


The Prince, the Knights, and the Overworked Technician/Arthur’s Handler/Sorcerer

by Phoenix_Rose



Series: A (Marginally Secret) Sorcerer on Her Majesty’s (Marginally Secret) Service  …Plus a prat of a Field Agent (Prince) [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, M/M, Merthur - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-02-22 04:20:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 82,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13159155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix_Rose/pseuds/Phoenix_Rose
Summary: Merlin Myrddin.  A tech guy, fresh out of college, working for his uncle.  Not exactly someone you’d look twice at if you saw him in the street.  Unless, of course, you knew that he was a sorcerer working to keep the ICT systems and top Field Agent (Agent Arthur Pendragon to you, Clotpole to him) of Her Majesty’s Service functioning.If you did know that, as his Uncle Gaius did, you might look a second time to check that he wasn’t about to go and do something stupid, before turning away so you didn’t have to watch him doing said stupid thing.  Or perhaps you’d be like his neighbour, Mr Kilgharrah, and watch to see if he was any closer to fulfilling his destiny.And maybe, if you were very lucky, you might even see him get chance to do the job he’s paid to do!





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first Merlin fic, and it's going to be a big'un. Not only is it a multi-chapter fic, but I have a whole series planned or in planning. Proud? I am!
> 
> Apologies for anyone who reads my other fics... I fell into a Merthur rabbit hole and they sorta fell by the wayside. And they might stay there for a while... sorry.
> 
> Right, so, if you notice any errors or think I've missed a tag (or rated it wrong) please tell me, and I'll sort it ASAP.
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

 

_ENTER QUERY >> CAMELOT _

_RESTRICTED ACCESS >> FOR YOUR EYES ONLY _

_ENTER PASSWORD >> _ ************

_ACCESS GRANTED >> _

 

Camelot, codenamed Camelot Exports, is an offshoot of Her Majesty’s Secret Service that deals only in the highest matters of national security; the monitoring and regulation of sorcery.  {NAME REDACTED} is the current head and beginner of Project Purge, a secret effort to eliminate magic after the Uprising.

 

_ENTER QUERY >> THE UPRISING _

 

The Uprising was begun by {NAME REDACTED} in response to the bias against sorcery in British society since its rediscovery in the 1900s.  It nearly destroyed London, turning large areas of previously densely populated areas into desolate wastelands, e.g. The Perilous Lands, The Forest of Balor, etc.  The rest of Britain was largely unaffected, as {NAME REDACTED} planned to conquer the capital before beginning elsewhere.

 

_ENTER QUERY >> PROPHECIES _

 

Every prophecy made by prominent Seers prior to the Great Purge is entered in Camelot’s system.  Access to the prophecies is strictly controlled.

 

_ENTER QUERY >> PROPHECY; ONCE AND FUTURE KING _

_RESTRICTED ACCESS >> FOR YOUR EYES ONLY _

_ENTER PASSWORD >>_ _************_

_ACCESS DENIED >> _

 

“Sorry Mr Kilgharrah, can’t get in.  Still don’t get why you wanted me to though.”

“All in good time, Merlin, all in good time.”

“Fine.  Can you show me the spell from last week again?  I almost have it!”


	2. Chapter 1 - Operation Workday

The train, for once in its sorry life, had been on time, and that was why Merlin had had to run for it - it was hardly his fault he’d planned for a five minutes delay!  Still, he seemed to be on time, even though he’d nearly dropped the brown backpack with his laptop inside and paused to shed the red scarf he’d chosen.  He stood a moment on the threshold of his new job; Camelot Shipping was a large grey building in the centre of London, surrounded by other similarly large grey buildings, and held within it his new position.  Being a member of his Uncle Gaius’ tech department (a position that had taken a miracle to get so soon out of college - thank the gods for apprenticeships) meant that he was responsible for several jobs: keeping the place’s computers in tip-top condition; developing new systems; building new, high-tech bombs and guns and the like; occasionally hacking into rival computers.

If Camelot Shipping had been a normal company the idea of weapons and hacking might have alarmed people.  As it was, what with it only being a cover for Her Majesty’s Secret Service, it was just part of the job, even though Merlin had a few misgivings regarding being allowed within three feet of explosives.

 

A guard at the door, armed with a nerve-inducing gun, beckoned Merlin over and sorted him out with a pass, warning him not to lose it, else there’d be trouble (Merlin didn’t ask what sort of trouble that was).  What he did ask, however, was where the Head of Tech might be located.

“Gaius Myrddin?”

“Yeah, that’s him.”

The guard grunted in recognition and pointed to his destination.  Apparently, he wasn’t one for conversation.

 

“Hello?”

The office seemed deserted - Gaius had told him to arrive during the lunch break, so he’d distract as few people as possible - and his uncle, his new boss, was nowhere in sight.

“Hello?  Gaius?”

“Merlin!”

Merlin grinned and waved at the ageing man who’d popped up with surprising ease from under a desk in the far corner, having been fiddling with some wires.

“You’re not meant to be here till eleven.”

“It is eleven.”

“Ah,” he peered at a clock on the wall, “so it is.  Well, put your bag over there, the desk should be empty.”  Pointing Merlin to an empty desk in the far corner (a slightly bruised old thing, with a mysterious scorch mark and copious coffee stains) he returned to what he was doing, cursing quietly when he realised he couldn’t read the labels.  “Come here then, I’ll show you what I’m working on and you can finish while I find my glasses.”

 

At 11:30 people flooded into the office, barely acknowledging the new kid.  Until, of course, he proved his worth by fixing what had been an unfathomable bug in the new surveillance system they were building.  Then he’d been surrounded by people telling him everything he needed to know.

“Don’t use the vending machine coffee, it’s disgusting.  Just make the pot, it’ll get used if you don’t finish it.”

“Alright.”

“Don’t mess with Morgana Pendragon.  No one except Uther’s got clearance to know what she actually does around here, but she’s bloody good at it.  I’ve seen her training and she could kill anyone of us from twenty paces.”

“Oh… ok…”

“I’d stay away from all the field agents if I were you.  They’re usually sleep deprived and heavily armed, and if something goes wrong they’ll find some way to blame the equipment, which is our department.”

“That hardly seems-”

“Fair?”  Those listening in sniggered slightly, “it’s not  _ fair _ , but it what happens.  Agent Pendragon’s a nightmare for it.”

“Morgana?”

“No,  _ Arthur  _ Pendragon.  Adopted siblings.  But Arthur takes it out on whoever’s closest to him if his mission’s ended poorly.  It’s just lucky for us that it’s so rare for him to fail.”

“Yeah, he’s the best agent in the service.  Completely lethal.”

“So…  try not to get on his bad side?”

“Near impossible if you meet him, Merlin.  Just… try not to catch his eye.”

 

“MORRIS!”

Merlin’s head whipped around at the booming yell calling for one of his new colleagues.  Rubbing at the pain he was certain was whiplash, he searched for the source of the distraction from his work (which, admittedly, was only trying to organise the files on the new cloud storage, so he was actually fairly glad for something interesting); a blond man storming in with a scowl on his face.

“MORRIS!” he repeated, stalking towards the desk inhabited by a nervous looking Jonathon Morris, “you’re not all that bright, are you?”

“I- what, sir?”

“I said, you’re not very bright, are you, Morris?”  He was leaning on the desk now, nose nearly close enough to touch Morris’ as he spat out, “you endangered my entire mission!”

“I did?”

“Teach him a lesson.  Go on boy.”

Merlin hadn’t noticed the agents lingering at the door, but he saw them now, egging on the shouting blond man as he began raving and ranting about a bomb that had failed to go off; it was true then, that agents blamed their equipment.  Merlin winced at the look on Morris’ face - the poor sod was terrified - and considered intervening… everyone else was frozen solid, staring whilst trying to pretend they weren’t.  As the blond’s fingers danced toward the throwing knife Morris had on his desk, Merlin decided that really, this had gone on long enough.  He stood and ignored the collective intake of breath that filled the office.

 

“Hey,” he walked over, catching the man’s attention, “come on, I’m sure he didn’t mean to,” he took the knife away, placing it on the desk behind him.

“What?”

“You’ve had your fun, my friend.”

The man looked at him confusedly, “do I know you?”

Merlin stuck out a hand, “er, I’m Merlin.  Merlin Myrddin.”

“So no.”

“No.”  He retracted the hand; clearly, this agent was a prat.

“And yet you called me friend?”

“That was my mistake.”

“I think so.”

Was he fool enough to insult a pissed off agent?  Yeah.  He definitely was.  “I’d never have a friend who was such an ass.”  Merlin started walking away, treasuring the look of shock on Agent Prat’s stupid face and pretending that the sharp intake of breath by every other person in the silent office hadn’t caused the bottom of his stomach to drop.

“I’d never have one who’s so stupid.”

He paused, turning to glare at Agent Halfwit, swallowing slightly when he noticed that the knife he had placed out of reach wasn’t so out of reach anymore - it was being tossed up and down, twirling elegantly in the air as it threatened him.

“Tell me, Merlin,” Agent Arse caught the knife deftly in one hand, “do you know how to walk on your knees?”

“No.”

“Would you like me to help you?”

“I wouldn’t if I were you.”

“And what are you going to do?” Agent Arrogant scoffed.  Merlin bristled under his mocking gaze; sure, he was slightly scrawny (though he was a whole inch taller than Agent High-and-Mighty), but he was more than a match for him.

“You have no idea.”

“Be my guest,” the blond arse laughed, throwing open his arms in invitation, “come on.”  Merlin hesitated; Agent Snooty was a field agent and the possessor of broad shoulders and large muscles which could very easily be used for beating Merlin’s much skinnier arse.  “Come on!  Come oooon!”

Merlin set his jaw and took a swing - if he could just hit his mark he’d wipe the smirk right off his moronic face…

It took a lot not to yelp when his arm was twisted behind his back.

“I’ll have you for this,” blond prat practically snarled.

“What?  Who do you think you are?”

“Arthur Pendragon.”

 

Merlin knew he’d gone pale, and he didn’t even utter a protestation when his feet were swept from under him.  Arthur laughed at him, cruelly amused by Merlin’s pallid cheeks and stricken expression, before walking away, sniggering with the agents observing at the door.  Merlin stood shakily, wobbled to his desk, and sat heavily, before proceeding to hit his head against the solid wood - perhaps if he did it hard enough, he’d knock some sense into himself.

“I’m an idiot,”  he mumbled into the papers he’d crumpled, as the others tutted in sympathy.  “I’m dead.  I’m so dead.  I’ve not even been here for a day and I’m dead.”

He was still mournful when Gaius returned, meekly accepting the eyebrow of disapproval that was raised in response to the tales of his exploits, which had probably ventured higher into his grey hairline when Merlin groaned and returned to resting his head on the desk.

 

“I’ve persuaded Agent Pendragon not to report you.”

An hour of nauseous fear had passed since Merlin’s faux pas when Gaius made that blessed announcement.  

“What?  Oh, thank you.  Thank you!”

“You never cease to amaze me,” Gaius raged, looking as if he wanted nothing more than to cuff Merlin over the head, “the one thing that someone like you should do around the Pendragons is keep your head down, and what do you do?  Behave like an idiot!”

“I’m sorry.”  And he really was.  Gaius was right, of course; every moment he spent in the Pendragons’ company was a moment he spent in danger, and it would have been much better to have been invisible (not literally, of course, lest he worsen the issue).  Someone like him, if they wanted to keep bullets out of their brains, should keep a very low profile.  If anyone looked too hard, they might notice the truth.  And that would be the end.

Gaius harrumphed and wandered back to his desk as a young woman walked through the door and towards Merlin.  He narrowed his eyes at her, recognising her instantly, though he wasn’t quite sure where from.  Until he did.

“Guinevere...”

 

“Merlin Myrddin,” she beamed, folding her arms and shaking her head, “still getting into trouble I see.”

He flushed, eyes flickering down, “yeah… I’m planning on changing my name to Idiot - that’s what people seem to call me these days.”

“No, no, no.  What you did is all around the offices - it was really brave of you.”

“It was stupid.”

She pulled a face, and Merlin knew she was preventing herself from agreeing with him.  “Well…  I’m glad you at least walked away.  You couldn’t have beaten him.”

“Wha-?  Oh, I could beat him.”

“Really?”  She looked him over, “because you still don’t look like one of those muscle-y types.”

“Thanks.”

“No!  No, I’m sure you’re stronger than you look.  It’s just, erm… Arthur’s a field agent.  One of those rough, tough, save the world kind of men, and… well…”

“Well what?”

“You don’t look that.”

Merlin sighed, throwing her a stern look.  “Guinevere Thomason, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times, even if it was many moons ago - I’m in disguise.”

Gwen looked like she would laugh, but then her face fell, and Merlin knew that it was his fault.

“Oh, Gwen…  I’m… I am sorry for what I did.  I was… upset.  But I shouldn’t have left you in the lurch like I did.”

“No, no.  It’s fine.  I never blamed you.  I’m glad to see you again.  And,”  she smiled, “it was very brave of you.”

“Really?”

She nodded, absentmindedly straightening out the creases in Merlin’s papers as she had done his homework in their college days, “Arthur’s a bully, and you stood up to him.”

“Yeah?”

Gwen hummed her agreement and Merlin smiled before he spotted Gaius over her shoulder.

“Apologies Gwen, but my number one fan’s approaching.  I’ll see you around?”

She grinned and left, as Merlin’s fan approached to yell at him to do his work, for god’s sake.

 

Dinner was an awkward affair that night.  

“I know you’re still mad at me.”

“Your mother asked me to look after you.”  Gaius was skilled in evading the point.

“I know,” Merlin sighed, “I know.”

“Remind me again what your mother said about your gifts.”

“That I was special.”

“And remind me again what  _ I  _ said about your gifts.”

“That she was right - magic should take incantations, spells, and yet I don’t.”  He looked at his plate as Gaius bade him continue,  “and that if I was going to work for Uther Pendragon I had to learn to keep it and me hidden.  Because he’d kill me,”  Merlin swallowed, “he’d kill me like he does everyone else, like he did…” his voice caught on a lump in her throat, “like he did... her.”

“Merlin…”  he sounded worried rather angry now, and Merlin wasn’t sure whether he preferred that.  He cleared his throat uncomfortably and picked up his fork.

“It’s fine.  I promise I’ll behave tomorrow, ok?  No more fighting with field agent, no matter how prattish they are.”

The huff of amusement was certainly better than grumpiness, though the eyebrow of doom was threatening an appearance.  Merlin returned hastily to his meal.

 

“How’s your knee walking coming along?”

Merlin scowled as Arthur Pendragon’s voice sounded behind him, pausing as he reached into the supplies cupboard for the eight boxes of staples demanded by his department (why they needed so many he didn’t know).  He took in a deep breath - Gaius would kill him for engaging - and began to walk away, chanting to himself:  _ not worth it, Gaius will hurt you. Not worth it, Gaius will hurt you.  Not worth it, Gaius will-” _

“Aw, don’t run away!”

Screw it.

“From you?”  he gifted the prat in the tailored, annoyingly well-fitted suit (wait, did he  _ seriously  _ just think that?) his most scornful glance.

“Thank god.  For a moment I thought you were deaf as well as dumb.”

“Look, I’ve told you that you’re an arse, I just didn’t realise that you were an arse thought of as important.”

Arthur scowled at him and a throat cleared behind him - apparently he was slightly more outnumbered and totally surrounded than he had previously realised.

“What are you going to do?”  He asked, ignoring a flutter of fear in his stomach, “hide behind your men?”

“I could take you apart in one blow,” Arthur laughed, his plump lips stretching into a mocking grin.

“I could take you apart in less than that.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Go on,” an agent said suddenly, “the training room is empty.  Fight!”

Merlin hesitated, wavering between death by Gaius or death by dishonour in front of Pendragon.  His decision was made as he spotted another technician roaming the halls.

“OI!  George!”  He handed the boxes to the man, murmuring that “under no circumstances can you tell Gaius what I’m doing.”

He pulled off his tattered brown jacket, tugged his red shirt straight, and indicated that Arthur should lead the way (he didn’t mention that he didn’t actually know where it was).

 

The room was large and unheated, with a wooden floor that started to leach the heat from his body in the tiny moment he was in contact with it - and that was only to place his carefully folded jacket out of the way!  Weapons piled high on shelves lined the white walls, covering the peeling paint well.  Merlin swallowed nervously when he missed the mace Arthur threw at him.

“Come on,”  he said, smirking as Merlin bent to fetch it.  “Though I must warn you, I’ve been trained to kill practically since birth.”

“Wow.  How long have you been training to be a prat then?”

Arthur hid an involuntary grin, “You can’t address me like that.”

“Sorry,” Merlin smirked, bowing low, “how long have you been training to be a prat, my lord?”

“Come on then, Merlin.  Come on!”  Swinging the mace round in a way Merlin couldn’t hope to replicate, Arthur backed him up towards a large pile of boxes; having never been graceful, Merlin tripped backwards and landed with a thump on the floor, failing to spot an angry looking Gaius raising an eyebrow through the window.

“You’re in trouble now!”

“Oh God,” Merlin choked out, looking around frantically for something to stop him receiving a macing.  He’d never been maced before, but the large spikes looked rather incredibly painful.  He spotted a way out and his eyes glinted with relief and something else.

Arthur stopped in his tracks, finding his mace caught on a hook.  He frowned at it before continuing on his advance, only to hit his shin on a box he was sure hadn’t been there previously.  “Ow!  Argh!”

Merlin smirked briefly, before gripping tight on a rope he  _ definitely  _ hadn’t… encouraged… to help him out.  With one sharp tug, Arthur was tripped and lay stunned on the floor.  He sprang to his feet, swinging his mace carefully (it would rather spoil the moment to hit himself with the damned thing).

“Do you yield?”

“To you?”

“Do you?” he demanded, taking a step forward, “do you want to give up?”

Arthur tried to stand but only succeeded in slipping backwards.  Merlin smiled in triumph; he’d done it, he’d taken Agent Pratdragon down a peg, he’d-

He’d done all of that with a large crowd and Gaius peering in.

“Oh shit.”

 

In his moment of fear for his life, Merlin was vulnerable, and Arthur wasn’t one to let him be.  A broom to the leg sent him tumbling and then the agents were swarming him, hooking under his arms and dragging him upwards.  He swallowed audibly.

“No, leave him.”

_ What? _

“He may be an idiot,” Arthur continued, placing his mace on a rack, “but he’s a brave one.  There’s something about you, Merlin.”  Arthur moved closer, eyes narrowed in confusion, “I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

The agents left in their dramatic group (show-offs) leaving Merlin to his fate.

“If it helps,” he said to the fuming Gaius, his eyes still on Arthur’s retreating back, “he antagonised  _ me _ , not the other way round.”  He risked a glance at his uncle’s face - the eyebrow of disapproval was alarmingly near to his hairline.  He sucked in a nervous breath; “...it doesn’t help, does it?”

 

“How could you be so foolish?”  Gaius yelled, marching through the corridors with a determined grip on Merlin’s (inconveniently large and thus easy to grab) ear.

“He needed to be taught a lesson!”  Merlin was tugged into the empty medical room, letting out a pained hiss.

“Magic should be learned, mastered, and used for good!  Not for idiotic pranks!”

“You’ve been saying that for years, but what is there to master?  I could move objects like that since before I could talk!”

“Then you should be able to control yourself by now!  I have warned you and warned you, yet you never listen!”

“I don’t want to!”  Merlin threw up his arms in frustration, turning away to hide his face.  “If I can’t use magic, what have I got?  I’m just a nobody, and I always will be.  If I can’t use magic, I might as well die.”

“Merlin, you know you’re not a nobody.”

“No,” he countered, “I know that Mr Kilgharrah insists that I’ve got some- some great purpose, but I can’t see it!”

Gaius sighed, “sit on the bed, Merlin, and lift up your shirt.”

Merlin complied sulkily, “I know you don’t believe Mr Kilgharrah - you don’t know why I was born like this, do you?”

“No.  I don’t know why you were born like this.  But it may be that you  _ do _ have a destiny, though that’s not really my area.”

“I’m not a monster, am I?”

“Don’t ever think that.”  He rubbed a poultice on rapidly purpling bruises covering Merlin’s back.

“I just want to know why I’m like this.”

“Drink this,” Gaius handed him a tiny cup of foul smelling liquid, “it’ll help with the pain.”

 

Going home, Merlin didn’t speak to his uncle.  He slung his bag through the front door, ignoring the small thump that was probably the corner of his already battered laptop, and made a beeline for the home facing their own.  He knocked three times on the peeling blue wood.

“Mr Kilgharrah?”

The door creaked open without reply and Merlin rolled his eyes - he was well used to Mr Kilgharrah’s dramatics - before entering.  He offered a small smile to the elderly man beaming at him, smothering a chuckle at the long striped scarf thrown haphazardly around his neck.

“Emrys!”  the man laughed delightedly, “I see you’ve finally taken the first steps towards your destiny!  And how small you seem for such a large one.”

“Well, I’ve not really, have I?  All I’ve done is start a new job and get my arse handed to me on a platter,” he groused, sitting heavily on the sagging sofa. “And why do you insist on Emrys?  It’s nothing like Merlin - doesn’t even start with ‘M’.”

“It’s more than a job, Emrys,” Mr Kilgharrah continued, a sly smirk flourishing as he used the nickname he’d insisted upon since the first time he’d telepathically summoned Merlin to his home, “I’ve told you that you were given your gifts for a reason, and this is it - Arthur Pendragon is destined to unite those with magic and those without.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes.  Of course, he was thrilled to finally be given the secret that Kilgharrah had kept so close to his chest, but it didn’t seem very… related to him in any way at all.  “Right.  What does that have to do with me?”

“Everything.”  Kilgharrah seemed to want to laugh at Merlin’s  _ I was afraid of that _ sigh, “Arthur will face danger from friend and foe alike; without your help, he will never succeed.  Magic will never be accepted.”

“No, no way.”  Merlin stared in abject horror - not only did the fate of magic lie in the hands of  _ Uther Pendragon’s  _ son, but he had to help him!  “I’ve never said this before, but you’ve got this wrong.”

“There is no right or wrong, only what is and is not.”

Merlin rolled his eyes at the typical response, “there is wrong,” he decided, fiddling nervously with the edge of his shirt as he battled the part of his brain that whispered that something in Kilgharrah’s belief seemed… right, “and it’s this.  I’m serious - if anyone wants to kill the prat they can go ahead, and I might even help!”  

He valiantly ignored the chortle that suggested that Kilgharrah knew more than he, “none of us can choose our destinies, Emrys, and none can escape it.” 

“No.  No way.  No way.  No.”  He kneaded his eyes with the heels of his palms, before sending Kilgharrah a desperate look.  “There must be another Arthur because this one’s an idiot.”

“Some things never change,” Mr Kilgharrah murmured fondly, so quiet that Merlin doubted that he had heard correctly.  “Perhaps it is your destiny to change all of that.  Now go, I can feel Gaius’ displeasure from here.”

Merlin frowned - he had never understood why his uncle and his neighbour hated each other so… perhaps one of them played their music too loud back in the day.  He snorted at the thought before looking back to Kilgharrah, “oh, come on.  I need to know more, surely!”

He was shoved out of the door as a harsh glow of gold illuminated Mr Kilgharrah’s eyes and lit up the edges of a small wrinkled tattoo ill-concealed by the cuff of his shirt - a dragon.

 

A few hours after distressing revelations at the hands of the Great Dragon (hey, if Merlin got a stupid nickname, then so did he), Merlin was stretched out on his bed, straining his eyes as he stared into the too-bright screen of his laptop, searching for the error in his code.  With a groan he shoved it aside, picking up his well-thumbed book of magic.  Gaius had gifted it to him when he first arrived in London and he’d read it from cover to cover several times, imagining the feeling of wielding such spells as were described yet never quite daring.  He flicked idly through it now, his mind wandering along unconnected paths mixed of destiny, the lumpiness of his mattress which could, thinking about it, simply be the corner of a book concealed beneath the duvet, and whether there was a spell to find errors in computer codes - he resolved to ask Gaius.  And speaking of…

“Oy!”

Merlin dropped the book and looked up at the irritated man stood at the threshold of his room, holding up a shirt abandoned and forgotten at least a day ago.

“Have you seen the state of this room?”

Merlin shrugged, following Gaius’ gaze as it trailed over clothes on the floor, papers in disarray in various positions about the room and the cups on his desk that he’d never been bothered to return.  He felt a small twinge of guilt at Gaius’ wince when he saw the disorganised pile of confidential files on sorcerers that shouldn’t have been removed from the office.  It faded fairly quickly when he was glared at.

“It just happens.”

“By magic?”

“Yeah!”

“Then you can clean it up  _ without  _ magic.”  He threw some clothes at Merlin, his near-perfect aim covering his nephew’s grimacing face with an unwashed shirt from two days previous.  “And when you’re done you can come down to dinner; I’d like to hear what cryptic nonsense Kilgharrah fed you today.”

Wasn’t that just brilliant?

 

*

Merlin watched himself approach Arthur with hand outstretched.  

_ Except, that wasn’t him.  And it certainly wasn’t Arthur.  At least, he didn’t think so… he’d never have put Arthur down as one for dressing up for a knight, and he wasn’t really one for wearing pyjamas out and about - were they pyjamas?  The top at least seemed far too thin to be a normal top. _

The only thing that stayed the same was that they scuffled, fighting and sniping at each other even against the unfamiliar backdrop of a castle.

_ Camelot, Merlin’s mind supplied.  This was Camelot. _

Arthur’s arrogance still shone out like the sun  _ (as did his bright blue eyes)  _ and Merlin still hated his guts, even whilst he was vaguely aware that this was a dream.

_ Was this a dream?  It all seemed so familiar… _

 

He didn’t remember it in the morning.

 

*

 

Sleep deprived (though he wasn’t sure why) and grumpy, Merlin near jumped out of his skin when a coffee was placed on his desk.

“Morgana Pendragon.”  An outstretched hand was shoved into Merlin’s face in tandem with the introduction and he shook it gingerly, suddenly slightly afraid to touch the coffee fetched for him, lest it turn out to be caffeine based revenge on behalf of her brother by a pencil-skirt wearing, very much intimidating, dark-haired witch ( _ witch? _ ).  “I heard what you did to my brother,” she continued, taking a seat, “and I wanted to congratulate you.  There’s not many that can hold their own against him.”

“I- th-thanks?”

Morgana giggled at Merlin’s nerves, “no need to be frightened of me.  I’m not going to hurt you,”  she gave him an appraising look, taking in his loose tie, roughly shoved up cuffs and dishevelled hair.  “In fact, you’re rather cute and clearly innocent, so I’m adopting you.”

“You are?”

“Yep.”  She smiled to herself, clearly pleased by her own charity.  “Expect coffee and hot chocolate at random intervals, and if my brother’s a dick I’ll sort him out.”

“Ok…”  Merlin didn’t dare argue with Morgana Pendragon, and at least she didn’t want to kill him (probably.  This could still be a complicated scheme to get him to let his guard down).  It seemed safer to accept the drinks and privately decide not to involve her in whatever rivalry he and Arthur had going, nor get himself involved in their sibling rivalry.

 

A day of hot chocolate deliveries passed quickly, and Merlin soon found himself packing up to leave.  He hadn’t encountered Arthur all day and had already begun to bond with Morgana who, whilst still intimidating, was less terrifying whilst alternating between laughing at jokes and complaining about the broken copier in her office (no one knew where it was to fix it).

He ambled through the corridors, knowing that Gaius had left early (“A privilege of old age, Merlin.”) and that his train wasn’t due for half an hour.  His eye caught on a flash of blond hair through a window and he paused to watch - Arthur and his agents were training, beating each other to the approval of Uther Pendragon, the head of the agency and (though they weren’t meant to mention it) the father of Arthur and adopted father of Morgana.  Despite being in no way interested in Arthur and his posse’s skill, Merlin halted and watched the display - and he didn’t in any way admire the clear talent Arthur had with his knives, nor the way he hit the bullseye with nearly every bullet, nor the way that, despite being a prat, he was clearly a good looking prat.

The exhibit ended after a few minutes and Merlin picked up the bags he’d placed down without noticing, ready to leave, when he saw a glinting blade in someone’s hand.  He wracked his brain for the name of the disobedient agent - Valiant, a brutish man with high kill rate and booming laugh reserved for when his subordinates suffered.

Why was he holding a knife?

No one else was looking at him, they were too busy sunning themselves in Uther’s praise.  So no one saw when Valiant raised his arm to aim at the back of Arthur’s head.

And no one saw the glint of gold flare in Merlin’s eyes as time slowed around him, allowing him free movement to drop his bags and charge in.  When time returned to its normal progression he was beside the rogue agent, slamming him to the floor with a push that sent Merlin tumbling, too.

But people did see the commotion, the curse of Valiant as his knife flew through the air into a wall far from Arthur’s head.  And they did see Merlin’s heaved breath of relief, and his vague motion to handcuffs before a large pair of hands was wrapped around his scrawny neck.

 

One well-aimed bullet and Valiant was no more, slumped to the floor as blood and greyish, pinkish tissue littered the surrounding area; Merlin was heartily glad that none got on him, else he was certain he would have vomited.  As it was, he shakily rose to his feet, rubbing at his bruised throat and swallowing down nausea.

“You saved my best man’s life,” Uther gaped.  “A debt must be repaid.”

“Oh, well…”

“Don’t be so modest, you shall be rewarded.”

“No, honestly, you don’t have to.”  ( _ Why was he so eager to add ‘Sire’ or ‘Your Majesty’ or something similarly embarrassing to the end of that sentence? _ )

“No, absolutely.  This merits something quite special.”

“Well…”

“You will be given a promotion,” Uther paused dramatically, addressing the room as a king might his court.  “In addition to your current duties, you will be Agent Pendragon’s handler!”

The room burst into applause as Merlin stared, horrified.

“Fath- Sir!”  Arthur cried out, just as distressed.

The pair shared one scandalized glance before looking away again, united in this shared trauma.

 

He definitely wasn’t sulking in his room when Gaius came in, having received an email warning him that Merlin’s time would be taken up with Arthur’s missions.

“Seems you’re a hero then.”

“Hard to believe, isn’t it?  And I’ve been punished for it!”

Gaius laughed at the depressed warlock lying with his face crushed into his pillows.  “No, I can believe it.  You saved my life the first time we met, remember?  And you were only a child.”

Merlin smothered a smile at the memory (he was  _ sulking  _ damn it!  Wait, no, he  _ wasn’t  _ sulking).  “Not really a child.”

“No, not really.”  Gaius looked at the young man and thought of who he’d been way back when, the day he’d walked into Gaius’ home armed with only a backpack, college application, and a grin, before preventing him from breaking his neck on the stairs with his skills.  With his magic.  “But you’ve been looking for a purpose for your magic for a long time… perhaps Kilgharrah is right.  Perhaps this is it.”

“What?”

“I know you used magic to save Arthur’s life.”

Merlin looked up from the pillow with a grimace, looking for all the world like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.  “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.  This must be its purpose.”

Merlin sighed, sitting up and running a hand through already tousled hair, “my destiny.”

“Perhaps that’s rather dramatic,” Gaius chuckled, placing a comforting hand on Merlin’s shoulder, “but yes, your destiny.”

Merlin’s phone rang from the desk - he picked it up with a confused frown, before scowling as a flustered sounding helper squeaked down the phone, “Agent Pendragon wants you right away!”

“Well, Merlin,” Gaius smirked, “your destiny’s calling.  You better go see what he wants.”


	3. Chapter 2 - Operation Nimueh

Work, Merlin mused, wasn’t as completely unbearable as he’d thought it was going to be a few months ago when he was assigned the job of handling Arthur Pendragon.  Sure, there’d been a few arguments (“Arthur Pendragon you prat, if you drop that comm in the lake I’ll-”  there was a loud splash and then static in Merlin’s ear) and that embarrassing moment in the debriefing when Gwen (who had turned out to be Morgana’s secretary) had leaned over to whisper in his ear that “I know you’re proud of him, Merlin, deep down,” but otherwise all was good.

There had been no more fighting in the corridors, no more glares from the posse of agents (who Merlin had taken to calling ‘the Knights’, though he would never admit to it), and sometimes - like right now - they might even engage in some chatter as they waited on a stakeout.   Only to stave off boredom, of course.  They weren’t  _ friends _ or anything stupid like that.

“How much longer is this going to take, Merlin?”  Arthur’s voice crackled through the earpiece.

“I’m watching the target through a camera in his office, he shouldn’t be too-  oh, no, he’s having another cup of tea.”  Arthur groaned in disappointment as Merlin giggled.  “Rather stereotypically British, don’t you think?  Putting off nefarious plans in favour of a cuppa.”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

Merlin stuck out his tongue in response and, realising Arthur couldn’t see him, blew an accompanying raspberry.

“Very mature,” Arthur drawled, thinly veiled amusement peeping out from exasperated words.  “Oh, you should give Gaius a heads up - Uther’s about to drop a load of work on the tech department.”

“What?  But I thought he wanted the encryption on the Russian files dismantling.”  (Personally, Merlin saw little point in that.   _ Apparently _ the Russians were planning to legalise the use of magic, but it seemed unlikely.  They were staunch anti-magic preachers.  If anyone was likely to bring back magic it was probably America - their public was less than impressed with their government agreeing with Russia on anything - and their alliance with Britain meant that idea was dead in the water.)

There was a sigh, “something about a High Priestess being declared a national threat.”

“What, but that’s ridi-”  Merlin cut himself off.  “Target’s heading your way.  Heading towards the bright red Ferrari.  You can’t miss him.”

“About time,” Arthur grumbled, climbing out of his car with a white-knuckle grip on his pistol.  Merlin leaned forward in his chair, switching from the cameras to the building plans, searching out an escape route.

 

With Arthur safely on his way back to headquarters, Merlin took the time to relay his message to Gaius with, of course, his own opinion mixed in.

“He wants the High Priestess of the Old Religion declared a national threat!  But that’s stupid because that’s the Druidic religion, right?  And they’re peaceful!  What could he possibly hope to find?”

“I-”

Uther Pendragon burst into the room, “I want you in every file belonging to Nimueh Carr!”  He slammed her file on a nearby desk and left, leaving the tech department to stare blankly after him.  Merlin moved first, picking up the file and reading aloud.

_ Nimueh Carr _

_ High Priestess of the Old Religion _

_ Current Whereabouts:  Unknown _

_ Current alias:  Unknown _

_ Crimes:  Classified _

_ Power level:  7 _

 

He looked anxiously at the file in his hands and then to Gaius.

“What if she notices us in her files?  She’s certainly powerful enough to… voice her displeasure.”  He eyed the printed seven again, swallowing nervously.  She could definitely be bad news.

Gaius shook his head.  “We’ll just have to be discreet.”

 

Three days of finding nothing incriminating had passed when the first case appeared.

Merlin had walked into the office halfway through his lunch break to retrieve his coat to see Morris, slumped over in his seat with sheet white-skin and eyes.  He’d yelled loudly for Gaius and helped him lift the man into the medical room before asking which doctor he should run for.

“None.  I’m the only person in this compound well-versed in magical ailments.  I’ll have to deal with it.”

Merlin flashed him a look, before remembering that Gaius had once been a doctor, once upon a time.

“Aren’t you afraid of catching whatever it is?”

“This is my job, Merlin, and I did it for a long time before I became a technician.  A lot of the time there’s nothing to worry about.”  Merlin gave the body lying prone on the bed a pointed look and Gaius shrugged, “people can’t see us looking afraid, else they’ll panic.”

Merlin looked out of the window to see a group of technicians accosting Uther, informing him that they would no longer be looking into Nimueh’s files - they’d clearly seen poor Morris.  “Yeah,” he muttered, “might be a little late for that, Gaius.”

 

At Uther’s demand, they kept the illness hidden from the other departments - there was no reason to cause panic.  But despite them ceasing their probing into Nimueh’s files, others were still falling ill, and Merlin could often be found assisting Gaius in carrying into the medical room.

“Merlin!”

Merlin jumped round to see Gwen looking worriedly at him.

“Are you ok?”

“Huh?”  Oh, he was in front of the medical room ( _ idiot _ ).  “Oh, yeah, I just… pulled a muscle lifting stuff.  Went for painkillers.”

“Oh, I see.”

He nodded awkwardly, playing with the edge of his shirt as he was wont to do when nervous, or lying or whenever he was uncomfortable, really.  “Er…”  he spotted a conversation starter in her hands, “someone get you flowers?”

“Oh!  No.”

Merlin clucked his tongue playfully, “What are the men ‘round here playing at?  Guinevere Thomason left without flowers - its an outrage!”

She giggled and flushed, swatting at his arm.  “Oh, shush Merlin.  Here,” she tucked a flower into his buttonhole, “so you feel better.”

She left and Merlin looked fondly after her, memories of old friendships warming his heart as he turned to reenter the medical room.

 

“Merlin!”

He jumped again - twice in one day was surely too much - this time facing Arthur.  He moved to subtly hide the view of sickness seen visible through the gap between door and frame.

“Yes?  What’s wrong?”  his brow furrowed, “am I late to a briefing?”

Arthur sighed, “Don’t worry, we’re getting used to it by now.”  He seemed to be about to continue talking when his eyes caught on Merlin’s flower.  He raised a questioning brow and Merlin blushed.

“Oh, Gwen gave it to me.  We… we went to college together.”

Arthur nodded, “Tell Gaius that Uther wants to see him now.”

“Ok.”  Merlin dashed in and shut the door as Arthur began to walk away.  He looked behind him, “Gaius-”

“I heard, Merlin.”

“Then why couldn’t he just tell you?  I’m not a servant!”  ( _ That felt like a lie… why did it feel like a lie?  Was he worked that hard he felt like a servant? _ )

“You are, however, his subordinate.”

“Wha-  if he knew what I could do, he’d-”

“Be obliged to kill you.  Now come one, help me get this covered up.”

“I’m not your servant either.”

“No,” Gaius smiled, “you’re my dogsbody.  Come on, hurry up.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, something he felt was becoming a far too common occurrence, and did as he was told.

 

The briefing was quick and quiet, with Uther’s terrified fury cutting the air like a knife as he reported another victim and inquired as to the fate of the others.  The first and second victims were dead, but the others were stable in their near-death condition.

“It does appear, sir, that the affliction is fatal.”

“Then you best find a cure, Gaius.  That is, after all, what I pay you for.”

Merlin bristled in defence of his uncle but held his tongue.

 

Two days later, the death toll was at five.  Gaius and Merlin had all but abandoned their regular duties in favour of searching desperately for a way to save their colleagues and easing the suffering of those past saving.  The first cases from other departments were flooding in and causing panic, and as the days passed by more and more people were dropping like flies.  Merlin had lost track of the number of files he’d had to search out to find the next of kin, and could only thank his stars that there was someone else to make the phone calls.  He did wonder if the Great Dragon would know what to do, but he didn’t want to ask - Gaius still hated when Merlin talked to him, and he was stressed enough right now.

“Merlin?”  Arthur spoke quietly, careful not to disturb anyone in pain.  Merlin blinked tiredly at him and followed him out, knowing what it would be - a mission.  He was rather glad for the distraction.  Except it wasn’t really a distraction because it was only Uther officially ordering Arthur to do anything necessary to end this.

“Do you know what’s going on, Arthur?”  Merlin asked as they left, looking down.  He desperately hoped, against all logic, that he did - he just needed something to wipe away the mortal terror that it would be Gwen or Gaius or Arthur lying in that bed next.  Arthur shook his head and walked away, unwilling to discuss the matter.  Merlin sighed and went to meet Gaius, more than ready to just go home.

 

They were almost out the door when Merlin saw another.

“Gaius, he’s alive!  Help me…”

Together they picked up that man and rushed him back to the medical room.  Merlin thought he would sob looking at the room of full beds, but he resisted, only letting out a sniff.  It was still enough to make Gaius look at him.

“There’s nothing we can do, my boy.  I’m sorry.”

“We’ve not even tried!”

“We don’t know the disease.  How can we cure it?”

Merlin looked at the door, checking for anyone who might be listening in, “With magic.”

“Merlin-”

“I could do it, I know I could!  I’d just have to… play about with it a bit, and then I’d know what to do.  Mr Kilgharrah-”

“Merlin.”

Merlin ignored him, “Mr Kilgharrah said that because my magic’s so instinctual, I might not even need spells for it.  I could save them, Gaius!”  He swallowed, uncomfortably aware of the rawness of his voice, “I could save all of them.”

“Merlin, Uther is suspicious at the best of times, but with this, it’ll be even worse.  This is not the time to be using magic.  Science will have to lead us to the source of this disease.”

Sleep that night was a long time in coming, granted only to red eyes left swollen and empty of tears by his guilt - he could help people and he wasn’t, just to save his own sorry hide.

 

*

There was a woman standing by a pool.  

_ He recognised her.  Where had he seen her before? _

She was clutching an egg in her hand, casting a spell.  She placed it in the pool with a smirk.

_ This was Nimueh.  This was the cause of the plague. _

When he woke in the morning, the dream had already faded into nothingness.

*

 

“What are you doing?”

Merlin walked into the crowded medical room where Gaius now all but lived to see the older man peering at a vial as if it contained all the secrets of the universe.  Who knew, perhaps it did?

“Examining the contents of the man’s stomach.  The one we found last night.” 

“Will that tell you how to cure it?”

“Not immediately, but it will tell us how it’s spread.  One thing’s for certain, this is magic of the darkest kind.”

“Why would anyone want to use magic like that?”

He thought of his own magic: golden showers when he was a child and far too happy to control himself; dragons made of the embers of campfires on the occasions they scraped together the money to go on a well-earned camping trip; a delicate rose accidentally conjured in place of strawberries, revealing to the world that he had fallen for- no.  No.  He wouldn’t think of that, not now, not when the burn of anger and grief and loss in the pit of his stomach made him think that actually, maybe he could understand the use of dark magic. 

“Magic corrupts.  People use it for their own ends.”

“But not all magic is bad.  I know that.”

_ (Her dark hair floating about in the wind as she beamed, begging him to let her show him the spell she’d learned that day - conjuring a… a… gods, had he forgotten? - and laughing with pure joy when it worked perfectly, sweeping him up in a kiss.) _

“No magic is bad.  It’s how you use it.”

 

Merlin jumped as the door slammed open, revealing an irritated Arthur leading in his men - “I’m sorry about this, Gaius, but Uther’s ordered that every room in the building be searched.”

“For what?”

“Sorcery.”

Merlin blinked at them confusedly, “I thought this was Nimueh’s revenge for us getting too close.”

Arthur sighed, looking half-heartedly through a stack of books, “Uther believes that the only way such a vicious curse could be cast is from within - Nimueh must have an inside man.”

Thanking any deity in existence that his magic book was safely hidden at home (though hidden more meant buried so far in a pile of clothes no one but Merlin would look for it there), he stepped aside for Arthur’s men to conduct their unenthusiastic search, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when they apologised profusely and left.

“We’ll have to hide that book of yours,” Gaius said absently, rearranging the disturbed vials, “if Uther doesn’t find what he’s looking for here he may well start searching homes.”

“He can do that?”

“He is the head of Camelot, Merlin.”

“Point taken.  But we shouldn’t hide it, we should use it!”

“Merlin, we agreed that was a poor idea.  Don’t be stupid.”

“If I have a destiny,” Merlin countered, “as you and Mr Kilgharrah are so fond of telling me, then what else am I supposed to do?  You’ve made it clear my magic isn’t for tricks.”

“You want to use magic when Uther is actively hunting sorcerers?  Are you mad?  Your life is meant for more important things - you can’t throw it away like this!”

“How is saving people not important?”  Merlin yelled, flinging up his hands, “isn’t that the whole point of this place?  If I don’t practice, how will I get to be this great Warlock I’m apparently supposed to be?”

“There will come a time where your skills will be recognised.”

“When?  You’ve been saying the same thing for years - be patient Merlin, don’t worry, Merlin, one day you can use your magic Merlin… how long do I have to wait?”

“Patience is a virtue.”

“Sitting by and doing nothing is a virtue?”

“Your time will come.”

Merlin looked over the sea of filled beds, “I could save every one of these people here if you let me try.”

“I know it’s tempting to use the way you find easiest, Merlin…”

“It is when it’ll save lives.”

“It’s no good if they’ll just catch it again - we have to work out how it’s spreading.”

Gaius watched sadly as his nephew bowed his head and sighed - his anger was clearly exhausted, and Gaius was dearly sorry that he had to stop him from saving the people… this was unlikely to sit well on Merlin’s sensitive conscience.  But he’d promised to protect him, so this was how it had to be.

“What do we do?”

Gaius looked at him sadly, looking older and wearier than he ever had in his life.  “Hope science can find an answer before it kills us all.”

 

Merlin’s actual job was duller than he remembered.  Somehow explaining through the phone to some arrogant higher up that yes, he really did know what he was talking about and no, he wasn’t lying to try and make him lose all his work for the day (didn’t people know to save as they went along?) didn’t have quite the same thrill as guiding Arthur through life and death situations without him gaining a scratch.  The phone beeped insistently as arrogant higher up hung up in a huff and Merlin rested his head on the desk with a groan.  Surely it wouldn’t hurt to rest his eyes… just for…

 

*

That was him ( _ not him, another him - dream him… Camelot him _ ) clutching something to his chest.  A jar?  A poultice!

_ A poultice?  Now that was old magic. _

The scene wavered before his eyes, changing and swirling as only dreams could.  A new scene filled his mind then; Gwen, smiling.  Gwen, relieved.  Gwen… scared.

_ What did he (not he, other he) do?  Why was Gwen scared? _

*

 

Merlin woke with a start.  He knew he’d been dreaming, but what of?  He strained his mind, eyes fixed determinedly on the desk as if it held the answers.  It was of him in Camelot, he knew that…

A poultice.

That was it, that was his dream.  A poultice that could cure the sickness!  He frowned and shook his head to clear the thought from his mind - Gaius would never allow it.

“Merlin?”

He looked at the door and saw someone - the name escaped him - asking after him, telling him that Gaius had another body and requested his presence.  Apparently no one found it strange that Gaius confided in the service’s newest recruit with no medical experience.  It seemed almost expected that his nephew would be the one to help.

 

“What’s different about this victim?”

“Erm…”  Merlin looked at the body stretched out on the bed, “it’s a woman?”

“Sometimes I wonder if your talents were bestowed upon the correct person.  Anything else?”

Merlin pouted; he was correct in noticing that this was the first woman to be afflicted, “...She’s from high up?”  His brow creased as he tried to think, “I saw her in a briefing with Uther the other day - people listened to her.”

“Ah.”

“But how does that help us?”

“Those from higher up rarely mingle with those below them.  What does that tell us?”

“Erm… That she hasn’t spoken to the people who clean her office and fix her computer?”

He almost regretted his response at Gaius’ pained expression.

“It suggests the disease isn’t spread by contact.”

“Oh!”  Merlin thought a moment, “they have a separate canteen, so they probably eat different food.”

“Good, anything else?”

“I doubt they even breathe the same air.”

“So what’s the one thing they do share?”

“Water.  Water?  You think the disease is spread through water?”

“Merlin, you’re a prodigy,” he thrust a cup into his hands and Merlin hurried off to the nearest tap.

 

“Gwen?”

Merlin stumbled back as a sobbing Guinevere crashed into his chest, apologising vaguely before charging off again.  He stared blankly after her before running to complete his mission - the quicker that was done, the quicker he could find out was wrong with his oldest (only) friend.  He set off in pursuit, half an eye on the cup (a little magic to keep it all in was hardly going to be noticed).

 

“Gwen!”  Gaius rushed over to the weeping girl as Merlin entered, “you have the sickness?”

She sniffed and choked back her tears, shaking her head.  “My father.  Gaius, please, he’s all I have.”

“I’m sorry.  I have no cure.”

“I’m begging you.”

“I’m sorry, but the cure has so far been out of my reach,” he took her hand, “I’m sorry.”

She swallowed hard, “I’m taking him home.  He’s… he’s not dying here, all alone.”  A final sob burst from her chest and she ran out, leaving uncomfortable silence in her wake.

“There must be something we can do.”

“My best.”

“But that’ll be too late for Gwen’s father.”

“I fear you may be right,” Gaius looked down sadly and took a flower from the bouquet in the corner - Gwen had left it there the day before in the hopes of comforting any patient who may be conscious - and placed it in the water he took from Merlin.  The boy himself has sat down shakily into a seat.  He knew Tom, remembered his kind smiles, his patient help with revision, his terrible jokes that were somehow hilarious, his comfort after everything…  And no.  No.

He was not dying on Merlin’s watch.

 

“Gwen!  Gwen!”  he ran over to her.  Her father was sat limply in the car and she turned to him, puffy-eyed and sniffling quietly.  “Oh, Gwen.  I’m so sorry.”  He wrapped her in his arms, letting her cry into his chest, and murmured quiet, comforting words to her, though he knew there was nothing he could say to make it better.

Hopefully what he was about to  _ do _ would make it better.

“Here, sit down.  I’ll put your bags in for you.”

He slipped the poultice in the pocket, knowing that the moment it and Tom entered the house it would start to work its magic.

“Goodnight Merlin.”

The car pulled away.

“Goodnight Gwen.  Good luck.”

 

“Merlin?”

“Arthur!”  He gave a nervous smile, “What’s wrong?”

“Gaius has found out how the disease is spread.  Did he tell you?”

“The water.  What’re you doing about it?”

“We’ve cut off the supplies.  Should stop the spread.”

Merlin’s smile grew in relief.

“But fath- Uther is still convinced that Nimueh had help.  He’s ordered me to find the culprit before they find another way to spread it.”

“Why are you telling me this?”  he asked dubiously, searching Arthur’s face for a hint of cruel amusement.  Whenever Merlin was told…  _ anything _ , it more often than not meant that he was about to be dragged into something potentially dangerous and usually inconvenient.

“No need to be so suspicious, Merlin.  Just thought I’d keep you in the loop.”

“Right...”

“And tell you that you are to keep an ear to the ground for anything sketchy.  If you see any hint of sorcery you’re to tell me immediately.  Understood?”

“Of course.”

 

The next morning when Merlin came into work, it was to the wonderful sight of a smiling Gwen, humming as she went about her jobs.

“Your father’s better then?” he asked, carrying a large pile of papers he’d taken from her overloaded arms in the last corridor.

“Yeah, it’s incredible…  It’s a miracle!”

“His skins clear?  Back to normal?”

“Yes.”

“Great!”  He gave his brightest smile as he deposited the load on a table before turning to leave.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Gwen said suddenly, looking strangely at him.

“No, I am.  It’s a miracle like you said.”

“Then how did you know he was well?”

“Well, you were happy.  Humming.”

“That’s really weird because I haven’t told anyone.”

Merlin rubbed his damp palms on his trousers, “yeah, alright you found me out.”  He leaned in close, looking from side to side, “I’ll tell you - I’m a psychic.”

She giggled and gods, wasn’t that a wonderful sound after her tears the day before, “you’re not.”

He shook his head with a rueful smile.

“But you are hiding something,” she was serious again (damn), “I knew you for a while Merlin, but I know since Freya-”

“Gwen.”

“-since everything happened we haven’t really spoken, so I won’t push it.  But I want you to know that when you want to you can tell me anything.”

He nodded.

“But thank you.”

“For what?”  Did she know?

“I dunno.  For asking?”

“I didn’t like to see you upset.  I never… I have to get on.”

She smiled at him as they parted ways.

 

Tom slaved away over a hunk of metal, near oblivious to his surroundings.  This was to be a gun (he wasn’t sure what type quite yet) for one of the Pendragons, Morgana probably.  

“The story is you were sick.”

Tom looked around to see Arthur Pendragon looking curiously at him.

“Not anymore.”

“Perhaps you were suffering from some other ailment?”

He barked a laugh, “oh, you’re joking.  I felt like death itself, not enough strength in me to stir the air.”

“Then… what happened?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  Suddenly it was good.  I’m fitter than I was before.”

“That’s remarkable.”  Arthur felt an inkling of disgust unfurl in his stomach at what he was about to do, “was anybody with you when this happened?”

“Just my daughter, Gwen.”

Arthur cursed silently - of course it was Gwen.  Of course it was Morgana’s secretary, one of her only friends.  

Of course his father had ordered him to kill Guinevere Thomason.

 

Arthur looked sadly upon Guinevere.

“Seize her.”

“No,” Gwen leaned against the wall in shock.

“Guinevere, I’m arresting you for crimes and contraventions of the laws of Britain, that you did practice enchantments.”

“Gwen?”  Morgana walked out of her rooms, confusion marking her face.

“But what have I done?  I haven’t done anything!  Help me, please!”

“What’s going on?”

Arthur sighed, holding out a poultice, “the guards found this in her bag.”

“Oh, that’s ridiculous.”

“Then how else do you explain her father’s recovery?”  Arthur’s heart wasn’t in it as he argued for Gwen’s arrest.

“Well, she’s innocent.  I know she’s innocent!”

“What can I do?” Arthur flung up his arms, frustrated and angry with everything (mostly himself), “I can’t turn a blind eye!”

Morgana scoffed and Arthur could take no more; he stormed off, pretending that this was his own decision.

 

Merlin poked his head out off his office, hearing anguished cries.  Gwen was being dragged away by her arms, roughly shoved into a holding cell, accused of the magic that had saved her father.  He held back a groan - he was stupid to think Uther wouldn’t suspect her.  He looked around urgently - where was Arthur?  Setting off at a run, he began to plan his tirade.

“You have the wrong woman.”

“Merlin…”

“I know you’re convinced,” he said hurriedly, watching Arthur’s expression carefully, “but I’ve known Gwen for years.  She has no magic, and even if she did she’d never hurt people, never in a million lifetimes.”

“If she has no magic,” Arthur said wearily, “how do you explain the poultice?”  Damn that poultice.  He should have searched the bag himself - at least he’d have a choice to hide it.

“A well-wisher…”  _ me _ , “someone who knew them and about magic, and couldn’t bear to stand by as they suffered.”  Well, it was the truth.

“Magic is evil, Merlin,” Arthur said, his tone flat as if reciting, “a sorcerer would not be a well-wisher.”

He opened his mouth to protest, to convince, to confess (if needed) when Gaius took him by the shoulder and dragged him into an empty office.

 

“What’ve you done!?”  Gaius yelled, slamming the door behind him.  Merlin recoiled, unable to bear the anger in his eyes.

“What?”

“I warned you!  Oh, I know, you thought you were doing good.”

Merlin looked down, “I know, but don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry!?”

“Don’t worry,” he insisted, rushing to the door, “I’m going to fix this.  I just need to know what’s happening.”

And, with that, he left, following silently behind Arthur as he went to interrogate Gwen. 

 

The interrogation rooms of Camelot were a dank, miserable place, poorly lit and poorly heated.  Those who entered did so in the knowledge that they would likely leave in a casket - only sorcerers and those who aided them were ever subjected to such a fate.  The Pendragons stood there silently, looking upon their prisoner with various expressions: Uther looked pleased, glad he’d caught her quickly; Morgana tried to look reassuring, her eyes burning with righteous fury; Arthur looked blankly, only his eyes betraying his guilt.  Merlin ducked unseen beneath a pillar, determined to see just how much trouble he’d caused this time.

“Please believe me,” Gwen cried, “I have done nothing!  Please, I swear, I’ve done nothing!”

“Well done,” Uther murmured to Arthur - Arthur, Merlin noticed, looked vaguely sick.

“Why will no one believe me?  He just got better!  I did nothing!”

Morgana stepped forward, looking kindly on her friend, “I believe you.  Perhaps this is a disease that is not always fatal.  Have you thought of that?” she turned to glare at Uther, “perhaps he recovered naturally.”

“And what of this poultice that was found?”

“What poultice?” Gwen asked bemusedly, “I don’t know anything about a poultice!”

“It was found in your bag.”  He took a step forward, “undo this enchantment.  Put an end to this contagion.”

“I can’t!”

“I will show you no mercy.”

“I am not a witch.” Gwen wept, “I don’t know how to stop the illness!”

Merlin swallowed a sob at her distress, a tear running down his face.

“If you will not undo your sorcery, you force my hand and I must find you guilty…”

“But I told you, I-”

“It is therefore my duty to pronounce judgment.”  Uther looked down his nose at Gwen, “and, under the circumstances, I have no choice.  The cure will be forced out of you or the curse will die with you.”

“No.” Gwen breathed.

“I can only hope that when you die, this evil plague dies with you.”

“No!  No!”

“Take her away.”

“Please, no!  I’m innocent!  Please, please, no!  Please help me!  Please, I beg you!  No!”  Gwen’s voice grew hoarse as she was dragged away.  Merlin pressed a shaking hand to his mouth as he hid.

 

“I know Gwen, she’s my secretary, not an enchantress,” Morgana said coldly.

“Have you ever seen an enchantress?  Believe me, they bear no sign, no mark.  There is no sense of evil in the eye.”

“I’ve seen the way the girl works.  Her fingers are worn, her nails are broken.  If she was a sorceress, why would she do this?  Why would she type out memos morning after morning when she could make these things happen with a snap of her fingers?  Like an idle head!”

“You have no right!”

“You have a right to cast a judgment on that girl!”  Morgana insisted, unleashing a furious glare upon her adoptive father.

“I have a responsibility to take care of this agency, this country!  I take no pleasure in this!”

“But you’re sentencing the wrong person!”

Arthur swallowed his nausea.  “She’s right, Father.  You hear the word magic, you no longer listen.”

“You saw it for yourself.  She used enchantments.”

Arthur hesitated a moment, “yes, maybe.  But to save her dying father.  That doesn’t make her guilty of creating a plague!  One’s the act of… of kindness, of love, and the other of evil.  I don’t believe evil’s in this girl’s heart.”

Morgana smiled briefly at her brother.  Uther did not waver.

“I have witnessed what witchcraft can do.  I have suffered at its hand.  I cannot take that chance.  If there is the slightest doubt about this girl, she must die or the whole country may perish.”

“I understand that,” Arthur said reluctantly.

“One day you may become head of Camelot.  Then you will understand.  Such decisions must be made.  There are dark forces that threaten this country.”

“I know.  Witchcraft is an evil, father,” he ignored the voice in his head that disagreed, that reminded him of the doubts he had long nursed as he lay awake at night, “but so is injustice.  Yes, I am yet to be head, and I don’t know what kind of head I will be, but I do have a sense of the kind of place I would wish to live in.  It would be where the punishment fits the crime.”

“I fear you’re right,” Uther said heavily.  Arthur’s heart lifted; perhaps he was about to change his mind.  “She’s played with fire, and sadly she must face justice.”

Uther and Morgana left.  Arthur paced for a moment before following.

Merlin collapsed, a muffled sob escaping from behind his hand.

 

This was how Gaius found him, crying quietly behind a pillar.

“I thought I was doing good, helping her father,” he choked out, “I thought it would help her…  I- I wanted to make up for what I did to her - I know I hurt her.  I thought I was saving a life.  It seemed so simple!”  he sniffed, rubbing viciously at his tears with his sleeve.  Gaius let out a heavy sigh, sitting beside his nephew and wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“An easy solution is like a light in a storm, Merlin.  Rush for it at your peril, for it may not always lead to a safe harbour.”

“I see that now!”  He leaned into his uncle’s side, “what they’re going to do to her in there… they’re expecting her to use magic to survive it.”  He shuddered, thinking of the terrible rumours of what they did to sorcerers in the basement of Camelot.  When he’d newly arrived in London, only sixteen and still unaware of the true dangers of his magic, he’d heard whispers of it, and his nightmares had been almost nightly.   _ It was almost as bad as learning about the Salem Witch trials; he’d sworn he could smell the smoke, the burning of flesh…   _ “She’ll be dead within a day, Gaius.”

“How many times have I warned you of the dangers of being a warlock?”

Merlin swallowed and disentangled himself - he didn’t deserve comfort, not after this - “I need to see her.”

 

The beginning of a desperate plan was rattling about his mind as he approached Gwen’s holding cell (they were still preparing for her interrogation, so she had a few hours to contemplate her fate).

“Gwen.”

The accused tried to come closer, but the shackles on her wrist stopped her reaching the bars.  Under the bright lights, Merlin could see she’d been crying.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”  The last thing Merlin deserved was thanks.

“For coming to see me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Well…”

“It’s alright,” Gwen said quietly, “don’t worry about me.  There’s no point crying about it.  I mean… I mean, I’m not saying you were going to cry about me.  Obviously I don’t think that.”

“Oh, Gwen…” he sniffed, “I can’t have this happen.”

“Please, one thing.  You, you don’t have to, but…”

“What?”

“Remember me.”

Merlin swallowed the lump in his throat, “you’re not going to die.  I won’t let this happen.”

 

Merlin panted slightly as he ran.  He had to reach them in time, he had to save Gwen.

“It was me!  It was me who used magic to save Gwen’s father!”  Merlin burst into the room, conscious of the gasps and stares.  He stood in the centre of the room, their gazes resting on him, “Gwen is not the sorcerer.  I am!”

“Merlin!  Are you mad?”  Gaius had leapt to his feet, watching him in horror.

“I can’t let her die for me,” he told him.  Looking to Uther, feeling strangely as if he’d done this all before, he dropped to his knees, “I place myself at your mercy.”

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“I do,” Merlin glared at Gaius.

“Then arrest him!”

“Father- sir, I can’t let you do this.”  Arthur walked to the center of the room, raising Merlin to his feet, “This is madness!  There’s no way Merlin’s a sorcerer.  He’s just a handler from a council estate.”  Merlin scowled as Uther spoke.

“Did you not hear him?  He just admitted to it!”

“He’s saved my life, remember?”  Arthur gritted his teeth, realising what he was about to admit to, “more than once since you made him my handler.” 

“Why would he fabricate such a story?”

 

“He’s… he’s in love.”

“What?”  Merlin forgot his anger in his shock.

“With Gwen.”

Uther grinned as Merlin gaped, “I am not.”

“You are.”

“No way.”

“I saw you with that flower she gave you.”

Merlin looked at Uther, “I’m not in love with her.”

Arthur placed a friendly arm around him, “it’s alright, you can admit it.”

“I don’t even think of her like that,” Merlin exclaimed, “we just went to college together!  She is - was - like a sister, but I’ve not seen her in years.  We parted on bad terms, so there’s no reason for me to shield her.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and laughed, “I think young Merlin protests too much, don’t you?”

“Perhaps she has put a spell on you,” Uther said with a wry grin.  Arthur tensed involuntarily - Merlin felt his grip tighten on his shoulder - but relaxed as people began to snicker.

“Merlin is a wonder,” Arthur laughed, “but the wonder is that he is such an  _ idiot _ .  There’s no way he’s a sorcerer.”

Uther shook his head at the follies of youths in love; “do not waste my time again.”

 

Merlin stormed into Mr Kilgharrah’s house, already yelling his frustrations.  The elderly man looked around from his seat and sighed - clearly this was going to be a long day.

“I told them, Kilgharrah!”  Merlin raged, pacing in the centre of the room, “I stood there, in front of the king and the court and Arthur, and I told them I was the sorcerer, not Gwen, and they don’t believe me!  Because I’m a manservant, they think I couldn’t possibly have power.  And now Gwen’s going to be executed, and it’s my fault!”

Kilgharrah blinked at the warlock, surprised (and slightly hopeful) at the mistake, “my ears are old, Emrys.  Could you repeat that?”

Merlin ceased his pacing, “I said, I told all the agents and Uther that I was the sorcerer, but they’re too stuck up to think a boy from the council estates could have power.” 

“And what did Arthur say?”

“That as his manservant…”  Merlin trailed off, looking confused.  Manservant?  His mind supplied faded snippets of old dreams; there he was a manservant, but not here.  He shook his head.  “That as his handler, he knows I’m not a sorcerer.  And then he accused me of being in love with Gwen!”

Kilgharrah chuckled, “well, Emrys, I trust you and Gaius can figure it out.  You best go back to him and work out your mess.”

Merlin sighed, “he’s so mad at me.  He’s never going to forgive me for this, especially if Gwen….  I’ll never forgive myself if I can’t save her.”  His face set into a look of determination, “I’m not losing someone else to Uther Pendragon.  I’m going to fix this, I swear!”

He ran, sprinting out of the door and begging Gaius to take him back to the office.  He accepted the journey long lecture before he left Gaius to his research (what was causing the contamination?), going instead to search through the Nimueh files for a clue.  The hours ticked by and soon it was midnight.

 

“Merlin?”

“Yes, Arthur?”  Merlin didn’t look up from the files he could now recite from memory, the black type seared into his brain.

“You should go.  You’ve been here for hours - you’re no good to anyone if you burn yourself out.”

“No.  It’s pure luck they haven’t started interrogating Gwen already.  I’ve got to find out what’s really going on, else she’ll die.”

Arthur sighed, placing a coffee beside him, “Morgana told me to give you caffeine if I couldn’t make you quit.”

“Thanks,” Merlin said absently, still looking hard enough at the file it seemed his eyes would burn a hole through it.  Arthur took a page from his hand and began reading it himself, frowning to himself.

 

Gaius came into the room clutching a book, “look here, it’s an Afnac.”

“Sorry, what?”  Merlin looked up from his work.  Arthur rolled his eyes at Merlin’s distraction.

“I looked in the water and found an Afnac, a creature born of clay and conjured by a powerful sorcerer.  Now, we have to find a way to defeat it.  But where?”

Merlin shook his head, “looking through all your books would take days, Gaius.  Gwen’d be dead by then.”

“Then what do you suggest, Merlin?”  Arthur snapped.

“Give me five minutes.  I’ve just got to make a phone call.”

“Fine.  I’ll go report to my father.  It might keep him away from Gwen.”

“No, don’t!”  Merlin looked desperately at Arthur, wondering why he was so stupid, “he’d just blame her for conjuring it.”

“Alright, alright.  I’ll go ask what’s happening with Gwen, ok?”

Merlin nodded, before wandering off to call his neighbour.

 

“Mr Kilgharrah?”

“Hello, Emrys.  The great warlock returns.”

“I need to know how to defeat an Afnac.”

“Yes,” Kilgharrah mused, “I suppose you do.”

“Will you help me?”

“Trust the elements that are at your command.”

Merlin paused, “is that it?  But what is it I have to do?”

“You cannot do it alone.  You are but one side of a coin, Arthur is the other.”

“I-I don’t understand.  Just tell me what to do!”

“Farewell, Emrys.”

“What, no!  Just tell me!”

The dial tone rang on, telling Merlin that the cryptic prat had hung up on him.  “Oh yeah,” he said to the silence, “right.  Thanks.”

 

“Merlin, what are you doing?”

Gaius walked in to see Merlin frantically flicking through books, “looking for a book.”

“Are you going to tell me which one?”

“A book on elements.”

“Elements?”

“Yes,” Merlin said distractedly, “which one would I find them in?”

“Well, most of them.  The study of base elements is at the very heart of the scientific process.”

Merlin swore under his breath, “but how would they help me kill an Afnac?”

“Well, the Afnac is made of earth and water.  That’s two of the four base elements.”

“And the other two?”

“Perhaps that’s what you want.  Fire, fire and wind.”  He paused, frowning, “how did you find this out?”

“Erm…”  Merlin gnawed at his bottom lip.  Gaius was unlikely to be impressed to hear about him calling Mr Kilgharrah (he still had no idea why they got on so poorly), so he decided to lie instead.  “I just knew, you know?  One of my powers.”

Gaius raised an eyebrow, “and what else do your powers tell you?”

“That I’m only one side of a coin… the brighter side, obviously.”

“And who’s the other side?”

Merlin sighed.  “I think that might be Arthur,” he grimaced.  Gaius hid a small chuckle.

 

“They’re nearly ready to take Gwen for interrogation!”  Morgana burst in, tearing up as she passed on the grave news.  “Arthur just told me…  We have to prove her innocence.”

“We’re trying,” Gaius told her.

“Please, just tell me what I can do to help.”

Merlin looked towards the window, hoping to see the blond head of Arthur heralding his return from talking to his father, “we need Arthur.”

“Arthur?”

“There’s a monster - an Afnac - in the water supply.  That’s what’s causing the plague.”

“Then why is it only affecting Camelot?”

Merlin shrugged, “magic?”

“So we can’t tell Uther,” Morgana stated.  Merlin nodded, thankful at least one Pendragon got it.

“But we have to destroy it.”

“And that’s why you need Arthur.”

“He’s our best chance,” Merlin explained, “but he won’t want to disobey Uther, no matter what he really thinks.”

Morgana smirked, placing a hand on Merlin’s shoulder and looking at him mischievously, “leave that to me.”

She strode out, and Merlin suddenly felt a flash of sympathy for Arthur - Morgana on a mission seemed a force to be reckoned with.

 

Morgana wandered into Arthur’s office, mentally preparing herself for the role she was about to play.  Of course, her job was highly classified and not something she would ever be at liberty to discuss, but she reserved bragging rights that it had made her a master of manipulation.

“Poor Merlin,” she sighed dramatically, not bothering with a greeting.  Arthur looked up from a pile of papers.

“Yeah.”

“To offer up his life to save Gwen’s,” she shook her head in sympathy, “I certainly can’t imagine any man loving me that much.”

“No,” Arthur teased, “I certainly can’t imagine that, either.”

Morgana smirked, “that’s because you’re not like Merlin.  He’s a lover.”

That much was evident even with the limited contact Morgana had with him.  He’d only been there a few months and already he’d gone about with such cheer and cuteness (god, that smile that he gave when someone was nice to him alone was enough to melt hearts) that most of the departments would lay down their lives to save him, even if he was oblivious to it.  And, of course, there was Morgana’s adoption - she didn’t do that to just anyone!  No, only Merlin and Gwen received such an honour.

“Yeah, maybe that’s just because I haven’t found the right person to love,” Arthur said stiffly.

“Sadly the age of gallantry seems to be dead.  You look around and all you see are small men, not big enough to fill their armour.  There’s not one of them that’s able to stand up for what is right.”

Arthur smirked at her thinly veiled manipulation and Morgana knew she’d got him - not that she’d ever doubted that she would - “what do you want me to do?”

 

“You’d best be right about this, Merlin,” Arthur said quietly.  They stood at the reservoir, ready to go monster hunting.  A growl floated into their ears and Morgana gasped.

“You should both stay here,” Arthur told them, a hand hovering over his pistol.

“What?”

“ _ I’m _ coming with you,” Morgana contradicted, “but you’re right.  Merlin should stay here.”

“Absolutely not.”

“We’re trained for this, Merlin,” she said gently as Arthur rolled his eyes at his foolishness, “and you’re a technician.”

“I’m also Arthur’s handler.  If he’s on a mission I am duty bound to accompany him.”

“Through the  _ comms _ ,” Arthur said exasperatedly, his mind trawling through various manners of forcing him to stay.  And Morgana, too, though that’d be harder.

“Forgot the earpieces,” Merlin said brightly, sniggering as Arthur sighed and washed his hands of him.

“Morgana…”

“What, scared I’ll show you up?”

“Father will slam us both in chains if he finds out I’ve endangered you for an unauthorised mission.”

“Good thing he won’t find out then.”

“Morgana, you could get hurt.”

“So could you, if you don’t get out of my way.”  A small chortle escaped Merlin and Arthur rolled his eyes again - his eyes were surely becoming looser in their sockets.  Morgana smiled before returning to business, “so, how do we find this thing?”

 

Merlin’s amusement faded - he hadn’t actually included that part in his plan which, now that he thought about it, was a rather glaring omission.  (What could he say?  He handled maps and computers, not battle plans.)  “Erm… hope we find it before it finds us.”

The Pendragon siblings grimaced, drawing their guns in unison.  Merlin discreetly spread his palm; he’d declined a gun on the grounds he was just as likely to shoot himself as a magical creature.  Arthur spun and aimed, “stop!”

“What is it?”

He shook his head, slightly ashamed of his jumpiness, “only a shadow.”

 

They kept moving.  (The Afnac followed close behind, unseen and unheard.)  They soon found a small pool, not far from the main water source, that the creature had clearly been living in.  The only question was  _ where was it now _ ?

“Spread out.”  Arthur commanded, right before he was swiped from behind, tumbling to the floor.  Morgana dashed over, worry written all over her pale face.

“What is it?  Are you ok?”

“Yeah.”  He picked himself up, tightening his grip on his gun.

“Did you see it?”  Merlin asked, scanning their dark surroundings for movements.

“Yeah.”

“What does it look like?”

“It was… fast.”

Merlin nodded, disappointed but unsurprised.  He cursed the lack of sight; he’d grown accustomed to seeing everything he needed to in order to warn Arthur of danger, spoilt by the cameras ever present on Arthur’s missions.  He looked around for a high vantage point - Arthur pointed to a ledge and shoved him up, glad for an excuse to get him out of the line of fire.  Not that he was worried or anything, just because the paperwork involved with collateral damage was legendarily tedious.

Morgana’s scream echoed in the night as the Afnac appeared in front of her.  Arthur shot and missed, the creature too fast.

“Merlin!  Where’d it go?”

“That way, a bit down the path.  I think I can see it.”  (This felt familiar, and not just because he was acting like a handler.  He shook the thought from his head.)

The Pendragons followed, only to have their guns knocked roughly from their hands.

“Arthur!  Use the torch!”

A torch he’d have sworn wasn’t there a moment a moment before glowed brightly in the corner of Arthur’s eye.  He pointed it threateningly towards the creature, waiting for something to happen - clearly Merlin thought it’d be scared away or something.

 

“Lyfte ic þe in balwen ac forhienan.”  Merlin’s eyes glowed gold, shining out in the night as brightly as the stars, summoning the wind.  It blew the fire with a tremendous gust; the Afnac didn’t stand a chance.  Its ashes were carried away as Merlin leapt from his place, rushing to meet the pair coming back.

“You did it!” he called happily.  “But you better have your gun, Pendragon or Resources will have my head.  I promised them a week without needing a replacement.”

Arthur laughed breathlessly, slightly hysterically, and Morgana joined in.

(No, Arthur didn’t have his gun, and Merlin’s head was wanted by Resources - Arthur did it on purpose, he was sure.  Prat.)

 

“Good news, sir.  There have been no more deaths and those that were sick are recovering,” Gaius reported.

“Good,” Uther nodded.  “It’s strange, I’ve never heard of an Afnac before.”

“It’s conjured from clay by powerful magic.  The type that can only be invoked by an ancient sorcerer. One that has the power to mirror the spirit of life.  I found this at the water source.”  He held up a cracked eggshell, pointing to a small symbol, “there’s no doubt that this is Nimueh’s work, not anyone else’s.”

“Will I never be rid of her?”

“Sir-”

“Leave me!”

 

“Dad!”  Gwen beamed, running into her father’s arms - it was a miracle she was unscathed, and Merlin would be eternally thankful for whatever stroke of luck ensured it.

“Oh, my little child,” Tom gripped her tightly, pressing a firm kiss to her forehead.  Gwen smiled, reaching out a hand to grip Morgana’s.

“Thank you!”

“Don’t thank me.  It was more Merlin.”

“Really?”

“He’s the real hero here,” Morgana smiled.  Merlin looked down, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink.

“I don’t know what to say.”

He looked up and shrugged, “I didn’t do anything.”

“I’m- I’m grateful to you all,” said Tom, taking his daughter’s hand, “come on Gwen.”

 

“Merlin,” Morgana said as soon as the pair were out of earshot, “I want you to know your secrets safe with me.”

Merlin started.  She knew?  “My secret?”

“Merlin, don’t pretend.  I know what you did.”

Oh, gods, she knew.  And yet… she didn’t seem very much like she was going to kill him.  “You do?”

“I saw it with my own eyes.”

“You did?”  True, it wasn’t very subtle.

“I understand why you wouldn’t want anyone to know.”

Merlin gave a small laugh, “well, obviously.  Uther would kill me!”

Morgana looked at him confusedly, and Merlin felt the pit of his stomach drop as he realised he may have made a dreadful error.  “Why would Uther kill you for being in love?”

“Being… being in love?”  Merlin said faintly.

Morgana nodded, “with Gwen.”

“I’m not…” he rubbed a hand over his face, taking in the magnitude of his mistake, “I -  I -  Oh gods.”

She sighed, “we were talking about different things, weren’t we.”

Merlin nodded morosely, already thinking of the best escape routes.

“You were telling the truth about the magic, weren’t you?”  Morgana shook her head as Merlin swallowed.  It only took a split second to make her decision.  She placed a finger to her lips, smiling.  “It’ll be our secret.”

“Thank you,” Merlin said, stunned.  “Thank you…  you’ve no idea how hard it was to keep it hidden.”

Morgana smirked, considering pointing out that he was doing a fairly poor job of keeping it hidden before it was her turn to be surprised; her mouth fell slightly open as Merlin wrapped his arms tightly around her.  She placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder before he pulled away, blushing madly at his impulsiveness, and dashed to see Gaius, muttering to himself about stupid people who hugged  _ Morgana Pendragon _ , who was definitely the scariest person Merlin had ever met.  Even if she’d adopted him and not killed him for being magical and hugging her (he still couldn’t believe he’d done that).

 

Typing code was soothingly repetitive after the days Merlin had dealt with recently, even if the rest of the office had already gone home.  He looked up as Gaius brought him a glass of water.

“This didn’t come from the taps, did it?”

“Where else is it going to come from?  The water’s fine now.  That’s not your worry.”

“What’s my worry now?”  Merlin asked warily, taking a tiny sip.

“This was the work of a powerful sorceress.  I can only hope you didn’t come to her attention.”

Merlin nodded, watching Gaius sit down.  He needed him sat down before he told him the news.

“Morgana knows about me.”

“Merlin!”

“She’s not going to tell,” he said hurriedly, “I’m perfectly safe.  And… it’s nice… It’s nice having someone else know who I am.”

Gaius rolled his eyes and huffed, “one day, Merlin, one day.”

“What?”

“One day people won’t believe what an idiot you are.”

“Thanks,” Merlin said wryly before they dissolved into cackles, toasting each other with glasses of water Merlin still called suspiciously.

 

_ “Merlin,” Nimueh whispered, glaring into her stone basin, “you will pay for this.” _


	4. Chapter 3 - Operation Save Merlin

“Welcome Bayard,” Uther boomed.  “I hope our talks prove fruitful and form an alliance between,” here he smirked, picking up his glass, “Camelot and Mercia Shipping.”

The crowd laughed and applauded as the heads of two secret services shook hands.  Merlin was more interested in rolling his eyes at Arthur when he motioned for him to fill his glass with wine than the no doubt momentous occasion going on before them.

(Perhaps that is why he didn’t see her staring, watching, smirking.)

 

“Why have  _ I _ always got to carry the files?”  Merlin complained as he walked with Gaius after the meeting.

“You’re younger, Merlin.  Your arms are better suited to it than mine.”

“My arms are gonna be a foot longer by the time we’re there!”

“It’s character building.  As the proverb says; hard work breeds a… harder soul.”

Merlin stopped dead, looking at him suspiciously.  “There’s no way that’s a proverb.  You just made that up.”

“No, I didn’t.”

They managed a single moment of eye contact before bursting into laughter, still chuckling as they came up to their office, and still chuckling as a young woman tripped and landed on the floor, dropping her papers all over.

“Sorry,” she muttered, dropping to her knees to gather them.

“It’s alright,” Merlin assured her as he placed his own load on a nearby table.

“Excuse me.”

“Here, I’ll give you a hand.”  He scurried about, collecting papers that had fallen over the threshold of the office and ignoring Gaius’ amused look.  He stood in tandem with the girl and she smiled as their eyes met.

“Hi, I’m Merlin,” he grinned, holding out his free hand.

“Cara,” she paused a moment as if remembering something, “you’re Agent Pendragon’s handler, aren’t you?  That must be an honour.”

Merlin shrugged - being yelled at for things that weren’t his fault and (for some bizarre reason) obeying when he was treated like a servant didn’t seem like an honour, but she didn’t need to know that, “oh, yeah, it is.  But someone’s got to keep him alive.”

Cara gave a shy smile, “thank you, Merlin.”

“Huh?” he remembered the papers in his hand too late.  “Oh, right, yeah.  No problem.”

“It was nice meeting you.”

“You too,” he handed her the papers and watched her leave, a small smile on his face.

“Come on Merlin,” Gaius laughed, “shouldn’t you be busy keeping Arthur alive?”

“Shut up,” he groused, blushing as he walked to his desk.

 

“You’re sure this is right?”

“Absolutely.”

Merlin squinted at the screen, “...are you sure that’s not meant to be a three?”

“Of course!”  The head of another technician appeared over his shoulder, “ah.  On second thoughts…”

“Should work now, right?”

“Hope so.  Uther will throw a fit if we can’t get it done.”

He nodded in understanding.  This was his real job, the one he was originally paid for, and it currently entailed trying (with trying, unfortunately, being the operative word) to break into the computers of several organisations before the week was out.  Merlin himself had no idea what those organisations were - classified information - but he’d heard the word  _ Dragonlord _ thrown about once… whatever that meant.  Plus, of course, the general IT support that a spy organisation required; more than you’d expect, actually, seeing as how these people were meant to be smart (he reckoned at least some of them just wanted to get on their nerves).

“Is it working?”  Gaius looked over from the desk, raising a curious eyebrow.

“Not yet,” Merlin sighed, “whatever it is that they used to protect this, it’s good… I’m not sure we can do it by the end of the week.”

“Nevermind.  I’m sure we can explain to Uther.”

Merlin thought of telling Uther Pendragon about the failure; he grimaced and began again with new urgency.  His audience drifted away as the minutes ticked by and he was just thinking of going to grab a drink when a familiar voice sounded close to his ear, distracted and clearly focussed on what he was doing.

“Do you own a suit, Merlin?”

“Sorry, what?”  He paused his typing to look quizzically at Arthur, who was heaving a long-suffering sigh.

“For the meal celebrating our new alliance tonight.”

“I’ve got to go to that?”  He winced as he imagined what a meal in one of the restaurants the Pendragon’s frequented would do to his wallet - the Pendragon’s were one of the richest families in Britain, with a prestigious name known throughout the world.  Merlin Myrddin was from the Ealdor council estate, had loans to repay and a not brilliant wage, and all his unknown name did was draw giggles and twist the tongues of those he told it to.

“Obviously you’re going, Merlin.  I have to go because I’m one of the people who’ll be working with Mercia, and you have to come because you’re my handler.”

“Oh.”

“So, do you have a suit?”

“I have the one I wear for job interviews.”

“Gaius, you know the kind of places my father visits.  Is Merlin’s suit acceptable?”

“If he stays in the background he should be fine.”

“Oi!  My suit’s fine!”  Sure, it was a little short on him and there was a pull in one of the sleeves, and the dye was a little faded, but apart from that, it was fine.  If you ignored the small tear in the seam that he’d darned less than perfectly.  But otherwise fine.

Arthur rolled his eyes and left him to his work.

 

“Are you  _ sure _ I can’t just skip this, Gaius?”

He tugged awkwardly on the sleeve, hyper-aware of the fact Gaius was much more prepared for this than he.  He wasn’t even dignified with an answer.

The place was so fancy he was fairly certain he’d be charged simply for breathing the air.

“Hi, Merlin!”

“Gwen!  God, I’m glad you’re here,”  he dashed over, ignorant of disapproving and amused glances, “I’ve never been more out of place in my life.”

“Really?”  she giggled, handing him a glass, “I’d have thought that Hallowe’en party Gwaine took us to-”

“Don’t remind me,” he groaned.  Just the thought of that hangover was enough to make him feel nauseous.  Damn Gwaine and his ability to hold his drink.  Gwen laughed again and he smiled - despite the setting, this was just like old times.  “Arthur cornered me earlier,” he complained, “and he made it very clear that I wasn’t posh enough for this, so I better scrub up well.”  He felt eyes on him and looked round to see Cara watching him; his hand involuntarily moved to smooth his hair.  Gwen spotted him and smirked.

“She’s pretty for a secretary.”

Merlin looked at her with her simply elegant red and blue dress, her subtle but perfect makeup, her dark brown hair curling in soft tendrils around her face - “She’d be pretty for… for a princess!”

“Mmmm,” Gwen smiled before they turned their focus to the treaty.  The signing had been done earlier, and now they were making speeches - it was a struggle to stay awake.

 

“People of Camelot, for a great many years we have been mortal enemies, and the blood of our men stains the ground from the walls of Camelot to the gates of Mercia.”  Bayard said, “And though we remember those who have died, we must not allow any more to join them.  As a symbol of our goodwill, and of our newfound friendship, I will buy you, Uther, and your son, Arthur, your first drinks of the night!”

A large cheer went up and the Pendragons grinned, but Merlin was far more interested in the fact that Cara had walked over with a look of anxiety plastered on her face.

“Merlin, I have to speak to you…”

“What’s wrong?” he whispered.

“Not here.  Come with me, please.”

He nodded and followed, unaware of or unconcerned by Gaius’ concerned frown (looking back on it later, Merlin had to admit that leaving with a girl he’d been flirting with, however poorly, was never going to look good in his uncle’s eyes, even if his intentions were perfectly honourable).

 

“It wasn’t until he mentioned drinks that I realised…” she whispered worriedly, looking anywhere but into his bright blue eyes.

“Whoa, slow down.  From the beginning.”

“Two days ago I was taking Bayard some papers, some form or something, and we’re supposed to knock, but I forgot; he didn’t know I saw him…”

“What are you trying to say?”

“If he knows I’ve said something, he’ll kill me…”

“I won’t let that happen, I promise,” Merlin assured her, “I’ll protect you, just tell me what you saw.”

“Bayard is no friend of yours.  He intends to bring about your destruction.”

“Cara, tell me… what did you see?”

“He has a specially prepared glasses, ceremonial.  And Arthur’s…”

Merlin let out a hiss of air, afraid he knew what was coming.  “What has he done to the glass?”

“I can’t say, he’ll kill me…”

“Cara please… please tell me…  Is it poisoned?”

She gave a shuddering breath and nodded.  With an unrepeatable swear as his farewell, Merlin was running back to the party.

(Perhaps that is why he didn’t see her smiling, smirking, leaving.)

 

Arthur was just about to take his first sip when Merlin ran in.

“No, stop!”  Merlin grabbed the glass and placed it on the table, out of reach, with a relieved sigh.  “It’s poisoned.”

“What?”  Uther boomed, rising from his chair.

“Merlin,” Arthur hissed, reaching for the drink, “what do you think you’re doing?”

“Bayard laced Arthur’s glass with poison.”

“This is an outrage!” Bayard roared.  In an instant, guns from all sides were drawn and Merlin’s heart leapt uncomfortably to his throat.  It was no good if by saving Arthur from the poison he got them all killed in a hail of bullets.

“Merlin, you idiot.  Have you started drinking already?”  Arthur drawled, avoiding their deaths as well as finally reaching his drink.  Merlin made a small noise of warning, scowling when he was ignored.

“Unless you want to be locked up,” Uther said with a glower, “you will tell me why you believe the drink to be poisoned.”

“He was seen lacing it.”

“By who?”

“I can’t say.”

“I won’t listen to these accusations anymore.”

“Pass me the glass.”

Arthur obeyed his father with a worried look - he knew that tone of voice and it never boded well.

“If this isn’t poisoned,” said Uther to Bayard, “then you have nothing to fear, do you?”  He lifted the glass out of reach as Bayard went for it, “no.  if it is poisoned I want the pleasure of killing you myself.”  Merlin found the glass thrust into his hand, “he will drink it.”

Gasps echoed around the room as Merlin visibly blanched, hiding the tremor in his hand by clutching tight to the poisoned drink.

“Father, if it’s poisoned he’ll die!”

“Then we’ll know he’s telling the truth.”

“And if he lives?”  Bayard asked, unconcerned by the thought of Merlin’s potentially impending death.

“Then you’ll have my apologies and can do to him as you wish.”

That wasn’t a pleasant thought.

“Uther, please, he’s just a boy!  He doesn’t know any better!”

Merlin turned to his uncle, hoping that he could see the silent apology in his eyes.

“Then you should have taught him better.”

“Merlin, just apologise.  This is a mistake, I’ll drink it.”

“No, no, no, no, no.  It’s... it’s alright.  This is my job.”   _ My destiny… _  he lifted his glass, toasting Gaius and Gwen (he hoped they wouldn’t be too upset), looking to where Cara should have been but wasn’t (perhaps it was better she didn’t see this), before taking a large gulp.

 

“It’s- it’s fine.”

“He’s all yours.”

He looked again for Cara as relief flooded through the room.  Where was she?  What had she got him into?  He took a step, ready to find her, when it happened.

He couldn’t breathe.

He grasped at his throat, choking, and then he surrendered to the oncoming darkness, knowing no more.

 

“Merlin!”

Arthur ran, deaf to the commotion around him as Uther ordered the arrest of Bayard and his men.  His focus was centred solely on the idiotic, stupid, selfless man he kneeled beside, the man who’d just saved his life.  His shivering fingers drifted to Merlin’s neck, searching out the faintly fluttering pulse.  He didn’t look up as Gaius and Gwen found the glass that (miraculously) hadn’t shattered, far too busy hoping beyond hope that Merlin would just open his eyes, just say something; he’d even settle for the inane chatter that poured down his ear during stakeouts.

“We have to get him to the medical room,” Gaius said, calm and composed in a way no one else could replicate, “Gwen, bring the glass.  I need to identify the poison.”

Arthur scooped up his handler (he was far too light, surely) and carried him to his car, wincing as Merlin’s breathing shallowed and his heart seemed to slow with every step he took. 

 

After a journey that, in Arthur’s opinion, took far too long, he was lying Merlin on a bed, chewing nervously at his lip as he gently lowered his feverish head to the pillow.

“Is he going to be alright?”

“He’s burning up.”  Arthur didn’t miss Gaius’ expert evasion of his question.

“You can cure him, can’t you Gaius?”

“I won’t know until I can identify the poison,” he told Gwen gently.  Though it had been years since she and Merlin had been the closest of friends he recognised the bond that lingered between them; it would take a lot to kill it.  “Pass me the glass…  Ah!  There’s something stuck inside.”

“What is it?”  Arthur moved from Merlin’s side to see what Gaius had extracted.

“It looks like some kind of petal.”

“His brow is on fire,” Gwen gasped.

“Keep him cool, it’ll control the fever.”

Gwen took the proffered damp sponge and tended to Merlin as Gaius searched his books.

“The petal comes from the Mortaeus flower.  It says here that someone poisoned by the Mortaeus can only be saved by a potion made from the leaf of the very same flower.  It can only be found in the caves deep beneath the Forest of Balor.  The flower grows on the roots of the Mortaeus tree.”

Arthur looked over Gaius’ shoulder, peering at an illustration.

“That’s not particularly friendly.”

“A Cockatrice.  It guards the forest.  Its venom is potent.  A single drop would mean certain death.  Few who have crossed the Mountains of Isgaard in search of the Mortaeus flower have made it back alive.”

Arthur barked a humourless laugh, “sounds like fun.”

“Arthur, it’s too dangerous.”

“If I don’t get the antidote, what happens to Merlin?”

Gaius sighed, looking at his nephew stretched out and sweating on the table, “the Mortaeus induces a slow and painful death.  He may hold out for four, maybe five days, but not for much longer.  Eventually, he will die.”

Arthur nodded, his decision made.

Merlin had saved his life.  It was time to return the favour.

 

“Morgana,” Gwen said quietly, “I’m sorry I haven’t been here.”  She looked over her desk in Morgana’s office, piled high in papers and files.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s fine.  How’s Merlin?”

“If Arthur finds the antidote in time, he’ll be fine.”

“Then he’ll be fine.  I’ve only just adopted him, he can’t go quite yet!”

Gwen tried to chuckle but fell flat and Morgana looked at her over the top of her computer, “You should be with him.  I’ll manage.”

“Morgana, I shouldn’t-”

“I know how much he means to you.  I’ll cover for you, now go!”

Gwen gave a shaking, grateful smile, “thank you.”

 

“What’s the point of tasters if you’re going to get yourself killed anyway?”

Arthur glared at his father.  His holster sat against his shoulder and his radio watch was strapped tight - he was ready for battle.

“Whatever you think, I won’t fail.”

“Arthur, you are my only son and my heir.  I can’t risk losing you for the sake of one tech worker.”

“Oh, because his life is worthless?”  Arthur glowered: this was  _ Merlin _ , the brave idiot who taunted and teased as he saved his life and guided him through hostile territory; the fool who let Arthur hit him with various weapons in the name of training, simply to avoid staring at uncrackable codes; his handler, who filled his ears with important data hidden within fatuous chatter and was, though he’d never in a thousand lifetimes admit it, the only man Arthur would only accept for the job.

“No, because it’s worth less than your’s.”

“I can save him, let me take some men.”

“No.”

“We’ll find the antidote and bring it back.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because one day I will be dead and this service will need a head.  I will not let you jeopardize the future of Britain for a fool’s errand!”

“It’s not a fool’s errand,” Arthur protested, looking desperately to the window and seeing the fading light - they were wasting time.  “Gaius said that if we get the antidote…”

“Oh, Gaius said, did he?  That’s precisely what makes it so.”

“Please, Father.  Merlin saved my life.  I can’t stand by and watch him die.”

“Then don’t look,” Uther growled, raising himself from his seat.  “This boy won’t be the last to die on your behalf.  You’re going to be the head of this agency.  It’s something you must get used to.”

“I can’t accept that.”

“Learn to.  You’re not going.”

“You can’t stop me.”

“Damn it, Arthur, that’s an end to it!”  Uther left the room, leaving his son to fume silently in his wake.

 

“Say what you like about the food,” Morgana said as she turned at the sound of Arthur storming in, slamming his gun and holster onto the desk in his frustration, “but you can’t fault our meetings for entertainment.”

“I’m sorry Morgana, I should have checked you were alright.”

“I’m fine.  I’m only disappointed I couldn’t take on a few of Bayard’s men - it would certainly have livened up my evening.”

Arthur laughed with little amusement and Morgana frowned, “what’s wrong?”

“Uther won’t give me clearance to help Merlin.”

“Sometimes you have to do what you feel is right and damn the consequences.”

“If I don’t make it back,” Arthur protested weakly (his mind was almost made up, but he felt he had to at least make a token argument), “who will be the next head of Camelot?  There’s more than my life at stake here.”

“But what kind of a head would Camelot want?  One that would risk his life to save those below him,” she handed him back his gun, “or one that does what his father tells him?”

Arthur hesitated a moment.

And then he ran.

 

“He’s getting hotter,” Gwen announced worriedly.  Merlin writhed in his sleep, sweat beading on his forehead despite Gwen’s efforts to keep him cool.

“Him. Liffrea, wuldres wealdend, woroldare forgeaf,”  he muttered.

“What language is that?”

“None,” Gaius covered quickly, “the fever’s taken hold.  None of those words are his own.”  He walked over, taking his wrist in his hand, “his pulse is weaker and-”  He paused, looking anxiously at a large, red circular rash forming on his pale arm.

“What is it?”

“That can’t be.  The rash isn’t supposed to appear until the final stages!”

“What does that mean?”

Gaius looked back to his book, “once the rash appears, death shall follow within two days.”

“You said he had four.”

“Something’s increased the flower’s potency,” he gasped, flicking through pages, “here.  It warns that ‘the effect of the Mortaeus will be more rapid if an enchantment is used during the flower’s preparation.”

“An enchantment?  But Bayard’s no sorcerer.”

“It can’t have been.  She wouldn’t dare come here,” Gaius mused, mumbling more to himself than to the anxious Gwen, “Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“What happened to that girl?”

“What girl?”

“Just before Merlin burst in one of Bayard’s secretaries took him outside.”

“She had dark hair.  Very beautiful.  I think Merlin fancies her.”

“He may not after this.  Find her.  Quickly!”

Merlin squirmed as Gwen left the room, still talking in his comatose state; “Arthur… swa…”

 

Uther paced in his office, “I expressly ordered Arthur not to go!”

“I’d say it worked like a charm, too,” Morgana drawled, watching Uther with just a hint of mirth.

“Not another word!”

“My lips are sealed.”

“I should’ve put him under lock and key,” Uther groused.

“You can’t chain him up every time he disagrees with you.”

“Just you watch me!”  Uther yelled, ceasing his pacing, “I will not be disobeyed!  Especially not by my own son!”

“No, of course you won’t.”  Morgana pulled out her phone with a roll of her eyes, beginning to note down appointments and jobs.

“You knew about this, didn’t you?  Morgana, don’t lie to me…”

“Arthur’s old enough to make decisions for himself.”

“He’s just a boy!”

“Have you seen your son recently?  You need to let him make up his own mind.”

“Even if it means sending him to his death?”

Morgana had no answer to that - she could only have faith in her brother and pray he would come home in time.

 

“Let me guess, she wasn’t there.”  Gaius looked up from inspecting Merlin’s rash to look at Gwen.

“No one’s seen her since the meal.  Who is she?”

“Not who she claims to be.”

“But you know, don’t you.”

“Cara.  Though that’s not her real name, just the one she gave to Merlin.”

“Then who is she really?”

“A powerful sorceress.”

“Nimueh,” Gwen breathed.  God, she hated that name, the name that brought with it the vision of her father lay dying in his bed, and now the same was happening to her best friend.  “We should tell Uther,” she decided, “maybe he can send agents.”

“No, she’ll be long gone by now.  It’s impossible to know where though… oh no.”

“What?”

“She knows that the only place to reach the antidote is the Forest of Balor; Arthur could be walking into a trap.”

Merlin grew restless in his sleep as if hearing this dire news, “Arthur.  Arthur.”

 

Arthur walked through the forest, unaware of the cockatrice hiding beneath a fallen log.

_ Merlin muttered under his breath, agitated in his sleep. _

Cara - Nimueh - sat upon a log, weeping as she tended to fake bruises.

“Hello?”  Arthur asked, moving slowly closer, “are you ok?”

The cockatrice roared behind him.

“Stay back!”

He did not see Nimueh’s smile as the beast approached, far too busy ducking its attack.  He missed Merlin’s voice in his ear, wishing he was there to warn him when the beast was about to lunge (though he’d never admit to it).  He rolled beneath another pounce, clambering hastily to his feet and aiming.  A single bullet embedded into its grotesque head, and it stirred no more.

(He didn’t see her grimace at his victory.)

 

Arthur looked back at the woman he thought he had saved; “It’s alright, I’m not going to hurt you.”  He frowned at her bruises as she stepped away in (mock) fear, “who did that to you?”

“My master.”

“Master?”  Arthur scowled at the thought.  There were few cases that really got under his skin and instances of slavery were most of them.  The thought of it made his skin crawl and he vowed to find the people involved and deal with them personally.

“I ran away from him but I got lost,” she looked at him with wide, desperate eyes, “please don’t leave me!”

“I won’t.  I’m not going to.”

“You’re going to take me away from here?”

“Not yet,” Arthur replied, “but I will.  There’s just something I have to do first.”

“Why have you come to the caves?”

He hesitated - should he tell a stranger of his quest?  Oh well, what could be the harm?  “I’m looking for something, something that can only be found in the caves.”

“What is it?  I know these caves well… I could guide you.”

“A flower that only grows here.  It’s very rare.”

“The Mortaeus flower?”  the girl flashed Arthur a smile, “I know where they are.  I’ll show you!”

Arthur smiled his thanks and followed her into the mouth of the caves.

 

_ “Arthur,” Merlin groaned quietly, “Arthur… It’s- It’s a trap… It’s a trap…” _

_ “His fever’s getting worse isn’t it,” Gwen whispered, turning away from her friend, hiding her tears though she knew he could not see them. _

_ “The poison’s setting in.” _

_ “Eft gewunigen wilgesiþas, þonne wig cume,” Merlin was hoarse and sweat pooled faster as he spoke, but his voice was firm.  Gaius shushed him gently, wiping a cool sponge over his head. _

_ “Can you fetch me some more Wolfsbane, Gwen?” _

_ “Yes, of course.”  Gwen went to the supply store at a run, leaving Gaius to watch over his nephew. _

_ “You must fight this, Merlin.” _

 

“There they are!”

Arthur followed the girl’s point to see a clump of flowers growing on a thin ledge.  He swallowed nervously knowing that, for Merlin’s sake, he’d have to go up there.  “Keep away from the edge,” he told her, preparing for the climb, “I’ll be back soon.  Don’t worry, we’ll be out of here soon.”

He took a deep breath, eyed the ledge anxiously, and began the climb.  His muscles burned as he kept up the steady pace towards Merlin’s salvation and it was sheer willpower that kept him moving onwards, ignoring the dizzying height and pain.

“Eorthe, lyft, fyr, waeter, hiersumie me,” Nimueh boomed.  The cave began to shake, “eorthe ac stanas hiersumie me. Ic can stanas tobrytan…”

“What are you doing?”  Arthur yelled at her, struggling to balance.  

“…hiersumie me.”  Nimueh finished, smirking as she watched Arthur; he dropped the torch and jumped to the ledge to avoid a falling rock, clinging to the edge by his fingertips.

“I expected so much more,” Nimueh said mournfully, shaking her head.

“Who are you?”

“The last sight you’ll ever see.”

Arthur tried to reply, but his voice died in his throat; his breath hitched and caught in his chest as he spotted a giant spider - a grotesque, monster of a thing - heading towards him.

“It seems we have a visitor.”

Arthur grabbed the gun from its holster, thanking god he hadn’t wasted all the bullets on the cockatrice, and shot one handedly at the spider.  It tumbled down the cliff in its death throes, but Arthur didn’t dare look down to see it land.

“Very good,” Nimueh grudgingly nodded, “but there’ll be more.  I’ll let his friends finish you off, Arthur Pendragon.  It is not your destiny to die at my hand.”

“Who are you?” Arthur yelled one last time.  His question fell on deaf ears as he watched her retreating back.

 

_ “Arthur.  It’s too dark.  Too dark.”  Merlin frowned in his sleep, shifting slightly, “Fromum feohgiftum on fæder bearme.  Fromum feohgiftum.” _

_ “Merlin?”  Gaius looked to his ward and saw glowing beneath the cover; he flung it off to see a small orb of light sitting in his palm.  “What are you doing?” _

 

“Come on then!” Arthur yelled to the approaching spiders, “what are you waiting for?  Finish me off!”  He fired off the last of his bullets and holstered the gun, waiting for his fate.  He’d lived a good life - he only wished he’d lived long enough to get Merlin that damned flower.

A blue orb floated into his sight and he blinked at it.  It moved the spiders out of its path and gave him the chance to pull himself up.  He spotted the flowers and grinned in relief.

_ “Leave them, Arthur.” _

The spiders screeched behind him and he started away from them, refusing to look behind at their twisted figures.

_ “Go, Arthur, save yourself.  Follow the light.” _

Arthur climbed higher and higher, snatching up the flower as he passed.  The spiders did not relent in their pursuit and he sped up, panting slightly at the exertion.

_ “Faster, Arthur.  Go faster!  Follow the light.  Move, climb.” _

Arthur heaved a sigh of relief as he clambered to the top.  The orb disappeared.  He checked the flower (it was fine, if a little squished) and set off for Camelot.

 

_ Gaius blinked as the orb disappeared from Merlin’s had - the boy had a peaceful half-smile on his face, more serene than he’d been since he’d been poisoned. _

 

Arthur was spotted on his way back, though he didn’t know it then, and word was sent immediately to Uther.  If he had known he’d likely have snuck in the back.  As it was, he was caught at the entrance.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.  “Let me through!”

“My apologies, Agent Pendragon,” the guard said (Gregory, that was his name, and if Merlin suffered because of his stalling Arthur would make sure he suffered), “but you’re under arrest on the orders of Uther Pendragon.”

 

Arthur paced his cell irritably as his father glared at him.

“You disobeyed me.”

“Of course I did,” Arthur snapped, turning to face Uther, “a man’s life is at stake!  Don’t let Merlin die because of my mistake.”

“Why do you care so much?  The boy’s just a handler.”

“He knew the danger he was putting himself in, he knew what would happen if he drank from the glass, and he did it anyway.  He saved my life.  There’s more.  There was a woman in the mountains and she knew I was there for the flower.  I don’t think it was Bayard who tried to kill me.”

“Of course it was,” Uther barked.  

Arthur didn’t attempt to convince him otherwise.  He held the fragile flower through the bars, passing  it to his father, “Gaius knows what to do with it.”  Uther took the flower, looking at it in disdain.  “Keep me in here for a week, for a month even, I don’t care.  Just make sure it gets to him.  I’m begging you.”

Uther crushed it between his fingers, dropping it on the floor.

“No!”  Arthur pressed himself against the bars, trying to reach the flower.

“You have to learn that there’s a right way and a wrong way of doing things.  I’ll let you out in a week, and you can find yourself a new handler.”

Arthur could have sobbed as his father left; the flower was right outside his cell, just beyond his reach.

 

“He hasn’t got much longer,” Gaius said solemnly as he mopped Merlin’s brow, “has Arthur got the flower?”

“I don’t know.  Uther won’t let anyone see him.  Is there nothing we can do to help?”  Gwen looked desperately at Merlin as his breathing rattled in his chest.

“Only the leaf of the Mortaeus flower can save him.”

“And we have to find out if Arthur has it.  I could sneak into the dungeon.”  Gwen gave Merlin a final sad look and started out of the door.

“That would be very dangerous.”

“I’ve got to.  Merlin will die otherwise.”

Merlin’s breathing grew ever more laboured.

“Be careful,” Gaius finally said.

 

“Food for the prisoner.”

Gwen’s hand trembled nervously; she hid it by gripping tighter to the tray she carried.  The guards opened the gates, smiling at her as she went through.

“Set it down over there,” Arthur told her, not reaching her gaze.  She placed it on a small table and turned to leave as he thanked her and went over to it.  “Wait a minute,” he stopped her, and she hid a small smile.  He picked up the plate and gave it back to her, “I couldn’t possibly eat this, it’s disgusting.  The state it’s in, I’m not sure it’s fit for anyone!”

She took it back, smiling as she saw the flower now decorating the untouched meal.  She walked out of the cell with a new spring in her step.

“You!  Wait!”

She froze as the guard’s voice echoed behind her.  He leaned over her shoulder and took some bread.

“Waste not, want not, eh?  We’re not all as precious as the Pendragons.”

She gave a weak grin and started to leave again.

“Food for the prisoner?”

She swallowed - the real food was here.  Ignoring yells behind her she dropped the plate and fled, the flower tucked safely in her pocket as she charged up the stairs.

 

“How is he?”  she gasped out, bursting through the door.

“Have you got it?”

“Here.”

“His breathing is much worse,” Gaius said, crushing the Mortaeus, “we have to hurry.”

Gwen sat down next to Merlin’s bed.  Silence filled her ears and she frowned, “why have you stopped?”

“The potion was created with magic.  We may need magic to make an antidote.”

“But we can’t.  It’s forbidden, even if we could.”

“I’ll try and make it work without,” Gaius lied.  “I need fresh water.”

Gwen ran off with a cup and Gaius prepared himself.

 

“Sythan…” he looked around nervously, years of fear weighing heavily on his mind.  He steeled himself - this was for Merlin.  “Sythan arrest wearth feasceaft funden.  Denum æfter dome.  Dreamleas gebad he gewinnes longsum”

The potion foamed as his eyes faded from the gold, and then Gwen was back, clutching the cup of water.

“Thank you.”  He prepared a cup of potion for Merlin, “hold his nose.”

Gwen complied and Merlin was forced to open his mouth as Gaius poured it in; “swallow, Merlin.  Swallow it.”

Merlin did not wake.

 

“He’s stopped breathing,” Gwen gasped, “Gaius, what’s happening?”

The physician pressed an ear to Merlin’s chest, and when he rose up again his face was grieved, “his heart has stopped.”

“He’s dead?”

“He can’t be.”  Gaius murmured, swaying slightly with the shock that made him seem older than ever, “He can’t be.  It was his destiny.”

Gwen stood shakily, “this is my fault.  If I’d got here sooner… if I’d been quicker…”

Gaius gathered her into his arms as she sobbed, “no, no.  It was me.  I should have looked after him better.  It’s my fault.”  She cried harder and Gaius hushed her, knowing it was futile.

 

“That’s disgusting.  You should be ashamed of yourself.  You’re old enough to be her... grandfather!”

Merlin’s outraged face peered up at them, still clammy and pale but far less… dead.

“Merlin!”  Gaius stared, releasing Gwen with a stunned smile, “you’re alive!”

“No,” Merlin said with a wry grin, “I’m the ghost come back to haunt you.”

Gwen dashed over and enveloped him in a bone-crushing hug; he hesitated a moment before relaxing into it.

“Sorry...” she let go, playing awkwardly with a strand of hair, “I’m just… I thought you were dead…”

“It’s fine.  More than fine, in fact… I’ve missed it.”  He frowned, “what happened?  The last thing I remember is drinking from the glass… and do you have something for a headache?”

 

“Sir, may I interrupt?”  Gaius hurried into the room where Uther hovered over a table covered in plans, talking hurriedly with his colleagues.

“Not now, Gaius.”

“But, sir, it’s important.”

“Word of Bayard’s arrest got back to Mercia; we could be attacked at any moment.”

“I feel what I have to say will have some bearing on your plans.  Please, it will only take a moment.”

Uther relented with a scowl, stepping aside with Gaius as he spoke again, “I know who tried to poison Arthur.”

“So do I,” Uther replied, frustrated, “he’s in my dungeons.”

“The poison was magical in origin, sir, and I’d recognise that hand anywhere.  Nimueh.”

Uther blanched, “you must be mistaken.”

“I wish I was.”

“It can’t have been,” Uther insisted, “we’d know her.  That witch’s face is not easily forgettable.”

“She’s a powerful sorceress.  She can enchant the eye of the beholder - we’d never know it was her.”

Uther hesitated, considering this.  If Gaius was right he was risking the security of Camelot for no good reason.  “Have you any proof?” he asked finally.

“The poison used against Merlin was made more potent with magic.” 

“Are you saying she conspired with Bayard to kill Arthur?”

“No, Bayard is innocent.  Look at what’s happening,” he gestured to the battle plans spread on the table, “ this is what she’s wanted all along.  A war to bring misery and strife to Camelot.”

Uther cursed, turning to the council behind him, “how long before Mercia could reach us.”

“A day, maybe less,” replied Agent Cador, “we could send our own out to meet them.”

“Instruct the men not to leave until I give the word.  And get their men on the phone!”

“Yes, sir.”

Gaius let out a small breath of relief, “you’re making the right choice, sir.  Should Arthur be told the truth about Nimueh?”

Uther did not answer as he left the room.

 

The Pendragon’s watched as Bayard and his men left Camelot’s walls in peace.  It had taken hasty treaties and almost ceaseless grovelling, plus an insistence from both Arthur and Merlin that it was all fine, really, but they’d managed it.  Morgana turned to Arthur with an amused smile.

“Ok then, let the bragging begin.  How did you manage it?”

“I’m not sure.  All I know is that someone knew I was in trouble and sent a light to guide the way.”  Arthur had surprised himself in the days following the mission - it annoyed him more that he couldn’t thank the one who saved him than the fact he’d been saved by magic, something he’d likely be imprisoned for if he ever let his father know.  He resolved to keep it to himself… or perhaps mention it to Merlin on their next dull stakeout.

“Who?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur admitted, “but I do know I’m only here because of them.”

“I’m glad you’re back,” Morgana told him softly, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder before she left.  He smiled despite himself; Morgana might be the most fearsome agent he’d ever known (even if he didn’t have clearance to know what she did), but she was still his sister, and it was nice to know she cared, even if they didn’t advertise it very often.

 

“Arthur?”  His father broke the comfortable silence, “the woman you met in the woods, what did she tell you?”

“Not much.  She was too busy trying to get me killed.  It was strange, though.”

“In what way?”

Arthur thought back to her words -  _ “It is not your destiny to die at my hand.”  _ \- and frowned, “I was at her mercy.  She could have finished me off, yet she chose not to.  Said that it wasn’t my destiny.”

“You must have been scared.”  Uther wasn’t asking; he knew the fear that magic could inspire, the cold chill that came when confronted with one’s own mortality.

“Had its moments.” 

“Those who practice magic know only evil.  They despise and seek to destroy goodness wherever they find it.  Which is why she wanted you dead.  She is evil.”

Arthur kept his expression neutral - if all magic was evil, why the orb?  He did not lend a voice to the traitorous thoughts, instead saying: “sounds as if you know her.”

“I do.  To know the heart of one sorcerer is to know them all.  You did the right thing.  Even though you were disobeying me.  I’m proud of you, Arthur.  Never forget that.”

 

The first time Arthur went to Merlin’s side, Gaius barely let him in.  It took a lot to make him even consider it, and even then it was with a solemn warning - “be careful with him, Arthur.  He's on rather a lot of painkillers right now.”

Arthur entered quietly, finding Merlin dozing quietly on the bed, wrapped in a blanket that could only have come from home - he made a mental note to tease him about the comfort blanket as soon as he was recovered.  He picked up a chair and placed it by the bedside, settling down for however long it would take for Merlin to wake.  Unconscious of his own actions, he was placing his hands onto Merlin’s, running a calloused thumb over the back of it in circular motions - a way of offering comfort, though Arthur wasn’t entirely certain whether it was more for Merlin or himself; he wasn’t sure whether he could feel it or not.

Merlin woke slowly and silently, and the first Arthur knew of it was when he’d tugged on his hand, surprising him into leaning forwards, and looped his arms around him.

“Thank you,” he whispered into the crook of his neck.

And then, as suddenly as he’d woken, he was snoring quietly, limp on Arthur’s shoulder.  With a huffed laugh Arthur placed him back down and decided he’d visit another day.

 

The second time Arthur came to visit, Merlin was indeed more awake.

“Still alive then?”

Oh.  Yeah,” Merlin craned his neck round as he sat in a chair, still wrapped in his blanket, “I understand I have you to thank for that.”

“Yeah well, it was nothing.”  Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly, “a half decent handler’s hard to come by.  I was only dropping by to see you were alright.  I expect to see you back at work tomorrow.”  He decided not to mention that he’d be keeping Merlin by his side all day, making sure he wasn’t overexerting himself - it wouldn’t do to look so soft.

“Oh yeah, yeah, of course.  Bright and early.”

They shared an uncomfortable smile and Arthur turned to leave.

“Arthur?”  He looked back round at Merlin in time to hear him say, “Thank you.”

“You too.”  He nodded, and a gentle smile slipped out, “get some rest.”

 

“Arthur may give you a hard time,” Gaius began, bustling around the room and gathering their things to return home, “but at his heart, he’s a man of honour.  There aren’t many who’d risk what he did for a subordinate.”

“It would all have been for nothing if you hadn’t known how to make the antidote.”

Gaius smiled, knowing this was thank you,  “come on, get up.  I’m sure you want to be home for dinner.”

Merlin stood, wrapping the blanket tighter around his shoulders, “I still don’t get why she went to all the trouble of framing Bayard.  She could’ve just kept quiet and killed Arthur.”

“But destroying Arthur and Camelot wasn’t what she was after.”  Gaius looked at Merlin’s bemused expression, “she knew you’d be forced to drink that wine.  It was you she wanted to kill… seems someone else knows you’re destined for great things, Merlin.”

The young warlock gave a weak smile and followed his uncle out the doors.

 

_ Nimueh watched them in her basin, glaring at their faces in the water. _


	5. Chapter 4 - Operation Matchmaker

“Arthur Pendragon!”  Merlin walked into the medical room, brandishing sheafs of paper, looking for the royal prat.  “There is no  _ way  _ I’m doing your paperwork for you!”

He spotted the dollophead sitting by the side of a bed, looking over a knight.  Arthur looked up and pouted.   “ _ Mer _ lin,” he drawled, “you know I could order you.”

“No you can’t,” Merlin said, handing over the large pile of papers, “so get going.”

Arthur grumbled as he left, and Merlin laughed.  He sat beside the knight, “it’s my break, so I can keep you company if you’d like.”

“Thank you, Merlin.  I’m Lancelot.”

“Lancelot?  As in Lancelot the first agent not from one of the rich families?”

The man smiled modestly, “that’s me.”

Merlin grinned; he’d heard stories of Agent Lancelot Du Lac and the battle Arthur had put up to force his father to accept him.

“What happened to you?”

“Nothing exciting,” Lancelot shrugged, “just a bullet wound.”

Merlin made a sympathetic noise.  He opened his mouth to speak, only to see Lancelot’s eyes widen slightly.  He turned to the door and saw Gwen mirroring the knight’s expression.  He smirked, only to frown as Gwen walked out again without saying a word.

 

“It was love at first sight, Gaius,” he lamented later, flopping onto the sofa, “and neither of them said a word!”

“How do you know, Merlin?”  Gaius sighed, looking at him from over the top of his newspaper.  Merlin waved the question away.

“Something in their eyes.  Like the fact they were very wide and staring.”  He sat up, “we’ve got to get them together.”

“Leave me out of this, Merlin.”

“Ok, I’ve got to get them together.  Operation get Lancelot and Guinevere together starts immediately.”

Gaius raised an eyebrow but said nothing, returning to his reading.

 

Arthur looked at the screen his father pointed to.  Images of burning towns in other countries covered them and he frowned.

“What could have done this?”  Uther asked.

“We found no evidence of bombs, gas, or any explosion.  But the residents…” Arthur trailed off, unsure whether to voice their suspicions.

“What?”

“The residents described a winged creature.  It took no animals, but it had a taste for human flesh.”

“Set up surveillance and put everyone on high alert,” Uther ordered, “if this creature is coming to Britain we have to be prepared.  Dismissed.”

 

Merlin sat again at Lancelot’s side the next day, chatting happily as he monitored cameras from a tablet (he was looking for a winged creature, apparently), “how long have you wanted to be a knight?”

“A knight?”  Lancelot raised an eyebrow and Merlin blushed; he hadn’t meant for that to slip out.

“You’re spies,” he said defensively, “you’re meant to have codenames.  They don’t give you them, so I did.”  He paused, rubbing the back of his neck, “don’t tell Arthur.  He’d never let me live it down.”

Lancelot laughed, “of course not.  The Knights, eh?  I like it...”  he grinned before thinking.  “Most of my adulthood has been spent here, I believe.  And I dreamt of being a secret agent when I was a child.  Most do,” he chuckled, “it’s just I actually made it.  I was in the police for a while, and they sent my file to people.  Arthur invited me to prove myself, and I managed it.”  He smiled.

Merlin looked at the clock, “oh!  Training time!  I take it you can’t train yet?” 

“No, not quite yet.”

“Well, I promised Arthur I’d help…  I know!  I’ll fetch Gwen to sit with you, I think she’d on a break.”

He smirked at his master plan, staying just long enough to see the pair strike up a conversation before he left.  Arthur really had asked for his help - he was slightly concerned about what that might mean.

 

The training room was crowded with new agents as Merlin walked in grinning, with Arthur in the centre effortlessly beating a man called Grummond.

“What are you smiling about, Merlin?”  Arthur near growled, walking away from the hopeless newbies.  “Grummond’s the third man to fail this month.  How are we meant to defend the realm with rubbish like that?  I suppose you think it funny.”

“No, of course not,” he tried to school his expression into something more neutral, “why would I?  When you’re grouchy I get yelled at twice as much as usual.”  Merlin smirked as Arthur opened his mouth to protest, cutting him off, “no.  I’m grinning for a different reason.”

Arthur waited for him to elaborate, punching him lightly in the shoulder, “come on Merlin, don’t pretend to be interesting.  Are you getting a raise?  No, impossible.  You’re far too incompetent.”

“Oi!”  Merlin scowled at him - the fact Arthur had nearly been caught so many times was entirely his own fault, born of his insatiable need to play the hero constantly.  In fact, Merlin reckoned he was above average for keeping him out of trouble despite his best attempts.

Arthur continued, ignoring the interruption, “you’ve got a girlfriend?  No, equally impossible.”

“What do you mean?”  Merlin asked, offended.  Arthur looked him pointedly up and down; he flushed under his critical gaze.

“Oh god, I’ve got it.”  Arthur looked horrified, “you’re playing  _ matchmaker _ !  Of course you are - you’ve got the look Morgana gets when she’s interfering in my- in people’s business.  Go on then, who are the poor sods.”

“Have you seen Lancelot and Gwen look at each other?  It’s hardly matchmaking, more… helping along the inevitable.”

“Lancelot?”  Arthur gave him a look, and Merlin got the impression he’d missed something, “Merlin, you  _ idiot _ .”

“What?  What’ve I done?”

 

Arthur closed his eyes, exasperated.  Everyone - well, everyone but Merlin, apparently - knew that field agents were expressly forbidden from engaging in long-term relationships.  (What wasn’t well known, and what he didn’t tell Merlin, was the fact that it was Arthur’s fault; his mother, the legendary agent Ygraine Pendragon, had been assassinated after his birth weakened her, and the heartbroken Uther had declared that no other agent would ever place themselves in such a position, not whilst he was head.)

“Oh,” Merlin said blankly, absorbing what he’d been told.  It didn’t seem terribly fair.  “Perhaps they could just keep it secret?”

Arthur barked a laugh, “don’t be stupid.  Lance is far too noble to even consider treating Gwen as a secret.  It’s a shame for both of them, I agree, but-”

“You agree they’re made for each other?”

He scoffed, “well, as I’m not a soppy teenage girl I wouldn’t go that far.  But you would have to be blind not to notice the looks they share in the medical room.”

“So if I was to research a way around the rule, you wouldn’t tell on me?”

Arthur sighed at his foolish, sentimental handler, “as long as you find time to do your job, Merlin, it’s no business of mine.”

Merlin grinned, promised to do his work, and ran off - time to check on Gwen and Lancelot.

“Merlin!”  Arthur yelled to his retreating back, “you’re meant to be helping here!”  He pinched the bridge of his nose and turned back to the agents, deciding he’d find some way to force Merlin to do something unpleasant later.

 

“Arthur just told me that agents can’t date people, but don’t worry because I’m going to find a way around it for you.”

“Wha-?”  Gwen looked confusedly at Merlin as he tripped through the door.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lance blustered.

“Oh please.  Gwen, I’ve known you long enough to know, and Lancelot… you just look smitten.”  The future couple blushed, “just keep a lid on it till I’ve found out a loophole, ok?  And Lance?”

“Yes?”

Merlin pulled a serious face, “consider this the standard warning to friend’s potential boyfriends.” 

“Merlin,” Gwen laughed, “you don’t have to.”

“But I want to,” he said simply.  Gwen nodded her permission, amused, and he cleared his throat.  “As someone with access to weapons, it would be very easy for me to make life difficult for you if you hurt her.”

Gwen shook her head at her friend as he broke out into a wide grin - he always had been something a romantic, trying to find her a boyfriend several times when they were younger (the failed flirting by Gwaine had thankfully been enough to dissuade him for a while) - and left the room.  She shared a small smile with Lance as his voice sounded down the corridor: “Gaius!  Gaius!  Can I have your help with something?”

 

The next week of Merlin’s life was as busy as it had ever been.  He split his time near evenly between work, magic, and trying to find a loophole to allow Gwen and Lance to be soppy and in love.  Gaius ignored him, mostly, and rolled his eyes whenever it was mentioned; the nearly happy couple thought it sweet of him and thanked him often, but were less than hopeful for success; Arthur had told him several times to quit pestering him with questions about company policy.

Merlin would not be dissuaded, not even when Gaius pulled him aside at the end of the week as he headed to his room.

“Merlin, I don’t know what you think, but just remember that you don’t owe Gwen.”

“I- what?”

“I know you feel guilty about losing contact after Freya, and I appreciate that you’re trying to make it up to her, but this is near impossible.”

“I’m not-  This has nothing to do with Freya!  Gwen just deserves to be happy!”  He pushed past Gaius and shut the door of his room firmly, refusing to acknowledge the fact that his uncle might have been slightly correct.

 

Gaius wasn’t the only one who tried to stop him on that day.  His phone buzzed loudly not half an hour after he’d yelled at his uncle (he probably should apologise for that, but it really  _ wasn’t  _ anything to do with… anything but making Gwen happy).

_ From:  Sir Lancelot _

_ Do you think it might _ __   
_ be time for you to give _ _   
_ __ up, Merlin?

 

_ From:  Merlin Myrddin _

_ So what, you don’t _ _   
_ _ like Gwen? _

 

_ From:  Sir Lancelot _

_ Of course I do! _

 

_ From:  Merlin Myrddin _

_ Then let me help you! _ __   
_ The rules don’t allow it _ __   
_ so damn the rules!  The _ _   
_ __ rules are wrong!

 

_ From:  Sir Lancelot _

_ But it’s against what _ _   
_ _ the knights stand for. _

 

_ From:  Merlin Myrddin _

_ Gwen deserves to be _ __   
_ happy more than anyone, _ _   
_ __ and you too.

 

_ From:  Sir Lancelot _

_ But the rules forbid _ _   
_ _ It! _

 

_ From:  Merlin Myrddin _

_ We’re not going _ __   
_ to break the rules.  I’ll _ __   
_ bend them at most.   _ __   
_ I’m going to help you, _ __   
_ whether you like it or  _ __   
_ Not.  So you may as _ _   
_ __ well cooperate.

 

_ From:  Sir Lancelot _

_ Fine. _

  
  


“Merlin?”

Days of research had brought no joy (though Merlin now knew that the position of head of Camelot was more important than he’d thought - apparently it gave the holder authority untempered by the law - so apparently Kilgharrah’s ridiculous belief in Arthur’s destiny wasn’t so ridiculous after all) and he’d been forced to be slightly less dedicated to his cause; Uther had everyone from tech monitoring the cameras looking for a ‘winged creature’ near constantly.

“Arthur,” he looked up from the screen that had shown him nothing interesting for the whole time he’d had to watch it, “what’s wrong?”

“Briefing.  All agents and any handler - that’s you.  Come on!”

Merlin swallowed hard - apparently someone had found something.

 

“What’s happened to them?”

Lancelot voiced the question on most agent’s minds as they looked at the mauled carcasses and wounded people projected on the screen.  Merlin ducked his head, not wanting to see.

“They were attacked by a winged monster,” Uther supplied, looking as displeased at the thought of the magical as he had by the pain of the victims.

“We can’t track a creature through the air,” Arthur said, nothing in his expression belying the nervousness that Merlin knew was there (something in the hidden stiffness of his shoulders, the briefest of flashes in his eyes gave it away, but only if you knew where to look), “how can we track it?”

“We don’t need to,” Uther sighed, flicking over the slide to reveal a map.  Each of the attacks was marked with a cross - Greenswood (Iceland’s), then Willowdale (minor operation in Manchester)… that meant…  “It’s heading South.”

“Here,” Arthur clarified, his face carefully blanked.  Merlin, given the luxury of fear, allowed himself a quiet hiss.

“You must prepare.”

“Have faith fath- sir.  We’ll be ready.”

 

Merlin hung by Arthur’s shoulder as they left, waiting until the others had left to ask, “will they be ready?”  He thought of Arthur’s disparaging comments on the new recruits and grimaced.

“I don’t know,” Arthur confessed.  He walked into the technician's office with Merlin and sat heavily in the chair beside his, “we’ll focus on our training on attack but…”

Merlin nodded in understanding - it was hard to train an unready group to fight an unidentified creature.  Gaius’ frantic mutterings floated through the air, “the wings of an eagle, the body of a lion… The wings of an eagle, the body of a lion…”

“He’ll have it soon, Arthur, I’m sure.  He’s got half the people not on camera duty reading through all the books the library’s got.”

“And the other half?”

“Weaponry, keeping the place running… preparing to handle you, which I can assure you is a difficult job.”

Arthur scoffed, “it’s not.  I do most of it myself!”

“Apart from finding the maps, fixing the cameras, organising the comms, building and fetching your equipment, helping you with the bulletproof armour-”

“Merlin.”

“Shut up?”

“You guessed it.”

Merlin chuckled and enjoyed the fact he’d managed to tease a smile out of Arthur.  He grabbed a particularly large book from a nearby desk, “work to do.  You gonna help?”  He had to admit that he’d expected Arthur to leave, not to lean closer and squint at the small text, his blond head bent close to Merlin’s.  (And Merlin’s stomach did  _ not _ just flip in a pleasant and confusing manner at his proximity.)

 

“Are you two coming out tonight?” Lancelot asked in lieu of a greeting.  The pair pushed the useless book away to look at him.

“Pardon?”

“The kn- agents are all going out tonight,” he explained, “traditional for the night before a difficult mission.  Are you coming?”

“Of course.  Merlin?”

He hesitated - the last time he’d been out drinking it had been… unpleasant, the next morning.  But surely if he was careful…  “Alright then.  But I’m not an agent.”

“You’re with Arthur as much as anyone.  Besides, Morgana’s coming with Gwen, so you won’t be the only one.”

Gaius looked over, immediately alert to the fact his nephew was about to be an idiot; “be careful, Merlin, you sing like a sailor the moment you get a whiff of a barmaid’s apron.”

“Gaius!”

 

*

 

_ “So Gwen, what do you think of Lancelot?”  Merlin grinned at Gwen, taking a sip from his 4th - 5th? - drink. _

_ “Don’t be silly,” Gwen laughed.  She took the drink away from him - she knew what he was like when he lost track of his drinks - and took a sip before putting it on the other side of the table.  He pouted and they giggled, looking over to where the knights and Morgana sat. _

_ “Go on then, for argument’s sake, if you had to choose one which of them would you have?” _

_ “Hmmm… I don’t have to, and I never will.” _

_ “Oh, you’re no fun.  Choose between two?”  He thought a moment, trying to pick a pair where Lancelot was the obvious choice, “I know.  Arthur or Lancelot, which one?” _

_ She rolled her eyes at him but she was flushing and Merlin knew what she wanted to answer. _

_ Now they just needed to have Lancelot make a move. _

 

*

 

“Argh,” Lancelot moaned, greeting Merlin from the sofa as he emerged from his room, “two yards of ale?  Two miles more like!”  Merlin groaned in agreement, glaring at the sun slinking through the curtains.  Gaius smirked as he walked in from the kitchens.

“Good morning gentlemen.”  He looked at them with poorly hidden amusement as Merlin shushed pitifully.  He held out two fizzing drinks, “don’t look at it, don’t smell it, just down it in one.”

The pair looked dubiously at the liquid.

“Can’t be worse than… whatever it was Arthur gave me near the end,” Merlin decided.  They shared a glance and downed them.

“Argh,” Lancelot repeated.  It really was an unpleasant concoction.

“Better?  Good.  Now get going, it won’t do for you to be late.”

 

Merlin and Lancelot walked through the gates together, spotting Arthur coming towards them.

“Morning,” Merlin said chirpily, “how’s your head on this fine day?”

“Lancelot.”

Merlin frowned - this did  _ not _ sound good.

“Yes?”

Arthur sighed, “my father’s ordered me to inform you that you’ve been temporarily suspended.”

Lancelot paled and Merlin, just as stunned, leapt to his defence.

“What?  Why?  He’s one of your best men!”

“Merlin…” Lancelot said quietly, knowing exactly what was going on.

“Merlin, whilst you were… indisposed last night,” (that was Arthur’s polite way of saying that he’d gone to the bathroom in case of vomit) “Lancelot was filmed declaring his love for Guinevere.  Word must have got back to my father and he’s following protocol.  I’m sorry Lance.  I know you meant no harm.”

 

Arthur left Merlin and Lancelot, the knight staring blankly ahead.

“I don’t know what to say to you, Lancelot.”

“It’s not your fault, Merlin.”

“It is.  I’ve been pushing you and Gwen together even though I’ve not found a loophole yet.”

“It was my choice,” Lancelot sighed.  “The punishment is mine to bear, and mine to bear alone.”

“I wish there was something I could do.”

“There is.  You can stop blaming yourself and make sure to keep Arthur safe.”

 

Merlin sat glumly at his desk, patching himself silently into cameras and systems.  He’d already checked the comms, polished and checked Arthur’s gun, and done most of his jobs besides.  Gaius side-eyed him from behind his own computer.

“Merlin.”

“Whatever you do, don’t say ‘I told you so’,” he said without looking over.

“I have no wish to gloat.  What’s done is done.”  He beckoned Merlin over, ignoring the fact he was clearly in a terrible mood, and turned his screen to face him, “here.  I’ve realised my mistake - I’ve been looking at creatures of myth for the answer and found none.  But then I thought, why would the creatures recorded hundreds, or even thousands of years ago not have changed over time, as non-magical animals have?  So I looked for creatures that bore the same main characteristics, if not exactly, and I found this.”  

“That’s it,” Merlin gasped, all thoughts of Lancelot and Gwen momentarily forgotten as he scanned the description, “that must be it.  What is it?”

“A-”

“Merlin!”  Arthur ran in, “the creature’s been sighted!”

“Earpiece here,” he said, leaving Gaius’ for another time.  He shoved it into Arthur’s hands before logging into Camelot’s cameras so he could watch.  Arthur ran out again, the knights following close behind.

“On me!  On me!”  Arthur yelled, his voice turning hoarse.  The knights crowded around him, aiming their guns at the swooping creature and holding riot shields with white-knuckled hands.  “Defend!”

The creature swooped low, it’s beating wings creating a wind that buffeted the knights, breathing fire that singed the ground around them.

“It’s coming in for a landing,” Merlin warned, his voice crackling in Arthur’s ear.

He was right, of course, and Arthur rallied his men, “attack!  On me!”  He shot at the creature, his agents huddled around defensively, only to watch them ricochet.  He stepped back, dodging a lunge.  Agents swore and scattered, looking for some manner of defence.  Arthur found a burning stick thrust into his hand - he waved it threateningly and the creature recoiled before taking flight.  They breathed a collective sigh of relief and Merlin let out a gust of air that sounded noisily in his ear.

“Merlin?”

“Hang on,” he said, knowing what he wanted.  He flicked through cameras, watching the creature as it flew away.  “It’s gone,” he grinned.  Arthur sighed again.

“You have said that your agents are the best in the world - you have certainly proved that today,”  Uther said proudly.  The knights, Merlin, and Gaius all stood in the council room, reporting to Uther on the mission.

Arthur shook his head, “for all I know it’s still out there.”  The group looked to Merlin; he was the one to track it, after all.

“I - er - I watched in the cameras for a while.  I didn’t see anything to suggest that it was injured.  At all.”  He rubbed nervously at the back of his neck, “it’ll come back.”

“Let’s not wait for it.  We end this now.  Myrddin?”

Merlin took a moment to realise it was he, not Gaius, being addressed, “yes, sir?”

“Can you find it again?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sir, if I may.”  Gaius took a small step forward.  Uther nodded for him to continue.  “I’ve been researching the creature, sir.  I believe it to be a griffin.”

“A griffin?  What’s in a name?”

“The Griffin is a creature of magic, sir.”

Uther scowled. “There’s no time for this.”

“It’s born of magic, sir,” Gaius persisted, “and can only be killed by magic.”

“Nonsense.  It’s flesh and blood like any other creature.  Arthur proved that today.”

“There may be some truth in what he’s saying, sir,” Arthur said hesitantly.  He didn’t like to disagree openly with his father - it was bad for the image - but he couldn’t let him labour under a delusion, “Merlin was correct in saying that the creature was unharmed.  Our weapons were useless.”

“Useless?  I think not.  No, it’s taster our lead once before and the next time shall be its last.  When will you be ready to go?”

Arthur bit the inside of the cheek (the coppery tang of blood was less than pleasant), “in an hour or so.”

“Good.  We finish this tonight.”

“Is it true what you said?”  Merlin said breathlessly, following Gaius into the office.

“Yes, I’m certain of it.  If Arthur goes out against it, he’ll be killed.”

“Then he must be stopped.  Uther must see reason.”

“When magic is involved, our head is blind to reason.  And yet… magic is our only hope.”

Merlin ran a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in all directions, “I know what you’re suggesting, but it’s impossible.  Arthur expects me on the comms - I couldn’t sneak off without him noticing.  He’d kill me.”

“It’s your destiny, Merlin.  The true purpose of your magic.”

“Do you even care what happens to me?”  Merlin gaped, “oh, just do this, Merlin.  Do that, Merlin.  Go and kill the griffin, Merlin.  I’ll just sit here and watch whilst you get your head chopped off.”

“Merlin!  Merlin, you are the only thing I care about in all this world.  I would give my life for you without a thought.  But for what?  I cannot save Arthur.  It is not my destiny.  You know.”

Merlin swallowed, sniffling quietly, “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Gaius said.

“I’ll say it for you.”  Merlin pushed up his sleeves and grabbed a pile of books from Gaius’ desk, “we’ve two hours to find a way to kill that thing without me being there personally, or I’ll be following behind.”

“I’m sorry,” Lancelot said to Arthur, helping him prepare the agents - if he couldn’t go with them, he’d still do as much as he could.

“I’m sorry, too,” he replied, “because you’re one of our best, Lance.  And I need… Camelot needs…”

“The creature?”

“A griffin.  I’ve never seen anything like it.  We couldn’t kill it.  There are those who believe that, as a creature of magic, it can only be killed by magic.”

“Do you believe this?”

Arthur sighed, “it doesn’t matter what I believe.  My father does not permit the use of magic.  We must beat it with bullets and bravery alone.”

“Arthur.”

He smiled sadly at Lancelot, “until we meet again.”

“There,” Gaius pointed to a spell in Merlin’s book (it had taken a mad dash home to fetch it), “you must do this for Arthur.”

Merlin focussed hard on the bullets on the table before him.  All he had to do was get this enchantment right, and then Arthur would be able to slay it.  “I’ve never cast an enchantment this powerful before,” he said anxiously.

“Nothing less will kill it.  Try.  I know you have it in you.”

He nodded and took a deep breath, “Bregdan anweald gafeluec.”

Nothing happened.

“Don’t worry, Merlin,” Gaius said (trying and failing not to sound worried), “we’ve got plenty of time.”

“Gwen?”

“Lancelot,” Gwen breathed, walking over to him, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he said, “but I need your help.”

“What with?”

“Armour and a gun.”  He sighed, “Arthur’s riding into mortal peril and it’s my duty to protect him, active agent or not.”

Gwen sighed, “you really believe that, don’t you.”

“Yes.”

“Lancelot, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you.”

“Guinevere,” he said quietly, “if I should not return…”

“Don’t go,” she burst out.

“I have to.”

She sighed softly, took a breath, and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, “then make sure you come back to me.”

“It’s alright, Merlin,” Gaius said comfortingly, “I know you’re trying.”

“And I’m failing!”  He glared at the unchanged bullets, “if Arthur dies because I’m not good enough…”

“Merlin…”  Gaius shook his head and shuffled out the room - he needed to see how close the agents were to leaving.  Merlin watched him go and continued his work.

“Bregdan anweald gafel-”

“Merlin!”  Lancelot rushed in, just in time to hear the end of the spell, “what in God’s name are you doing?”

“Lancelot!”  Merlin paled dramatically, clenching and unclenching his hand and hoping desperately his eyes weren’t gold, “I- I was…”

“Trying to save Arthur.”

Merlin nodded firmly, “if he goes out alone he’ll die.  He needs magic.”

“And you’re magic.”

“Always have been,” he said, his voice trembling.  Lancelot hesitated and then nodded.

“I’m going with them.  Is there anything I can do to help?”

Merlin stared, slightly dazed, “you’re… you’re not going to report me?”

“No.  You’re just doing your duty.  Your secret’s safe with me.”

“In that case,” he beamed, “you can take these enchanted bullets to kill the griffin… once they’re enchanted.”  He breathed in deeply and held out his hand, conscious of Lancelot’s curious eyes watching him.  “Bregdan anweald gafeluec.”  Nothing.  He tried again, holding out his hand, “bregdan anweald gafeluec.  Bregdan anweald gafeluec.”  Still nothing.  He took a calming breath and spoke once more, his voice commanding and far louder, “bregdan anweald gafeluec - yes!”

The bullets shimmered and told him that he’d finally succeeded.  He grinned widely as Lancelot gathered them up to take with him.

Arthur entered, Gaius at his heels.

“It’s time,” he told Merlin, holding out his hand for the earpiece.

“I want to come with you,” he said, passing them over.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin.  You’re not an agent.  You belong here.”

He sighed and Arthur left.  Lancelot waited behind until Merlin saw on the cameras that the knights had left (“For Camelot!” they yelled) and then followed at a run.  Merlin settled at a desk and chewed nervously on his lip, horribly aware that two of his three best friends - let’s face it, practically his three  _ only _ friends (four if you counted Morgana, but she seemed a little scary for that) - were risking their lives.

The fierce fighting, full of stray bullets, smouldering corpses, and the groans of dying men was hard for Merlin to watch.  It turned his stomach and he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to retain control of himself.  It wouldn’t do to get upset, or worse, to be ill.  When he reopened them, he realised his folly.

“Arthur!  On your left!”

The agent was knocked down and knocked out, and Merlin swore.  “Arthur?  Arthur?”

He watched Lancelot run over and take his pulse before taking the earpiece, “it’s alright, Merlin, he’s alive.”

“Thank god for that,” Merlin said (and he hadn’t meant to sound so sincerely relieved, though it was his destiny at stake here).  “Still got those bullets?”

“Yeah.”

“Well then Lance, it’s now or never.”

Lancelot swallowed his nerves as the griffin eyed him, preparing to charge.  He took careful aim as the beast began to run, firing off three shots in quick succession.  Merlin hissed in his ear - not one of them hit.  His palms were sticky with sweat.  He took aim again.

The bang of the gun echoed in the air as the bullet flew towards its target.  It hit the mark perfectly and the beast crumpled, falling to the ground forever stilled.  Lancelot grinned, amazed to be alive, as Merlin whooped and cheered in his ear.

“Lancelot?”

“Arthur!  You’re awake!”

“He’s awake!”  Merlin’s voice sounded faintly as he passed on the news to Gaius.

“Lancelot!  You did it!  You killed it!”

Merlin grinned, disconnecting and turning to Gaius.

“You did it?”

“We did it,” he confirmed, allowing his uncle a bone-crushing hug.

“Thank god.”

“You did it, my son,” Uther said proudly, “you did it.”

“Not me, father.  Lancelot.”

Uther’s expression soured as the knight in question entered the room, “what’s he doing here?”

“Father, I can explain-”

“You!”

Lancelot hid an anxious swallow, “sir, I’d like to request an immediate transfer.”

“What?”

He looked to Arthur, smiling apologetically, “I’m aware of the rules against relationships, sir, but I can’t abandon Guinevere, therefore I’d like to transfer to a non-field role.”

Uther looked at him, thinking hard, before nodding (at least the man had the guts to do the right thing), “leave.  We’ll decide your new placement within the week.”

He left, nearly crashing into Merlin.  He grinned as he explained his decision, touched by Merlin’s concern on his part (“you shouldn’t have to leave, you’re their best!”

“It was a choice, Merlin.  Don’t worry on my behalf.”)

But it wasn’t Merlin he most wanted to see.  No, that was Guinevere.  He nearly ran to where he knew she’d be, sweeping her up into a firm kiss, smiling against her lips as she gasped in surprise and giggled as she was released.

He’d never believed in destiny before, but this was meant to be.

Merlin watched from the window of the office as Lancelot and Gwen left, “perhaps you were right, Gaius.” he sighed, “they’ve lost a valuable kni- agent... maybe I shouldn’t have got involved.”  

“No, I was wrong.  You needed Lancelot as he needed you.  Your destinies were intertwined.”  

“He will fight again,” Merlin said.  He wasn’t sure why he knew, but he did.

“That I cannot say.”  

Still confused as to how he knew, he repeated himself, “he will fight beside Arthur again.”  He followed the pair with his eyes until they were out of sight as Gaius left his side.  “Till the next time, Sir Lancelot.”


	6. Chapter 5 - Operation Avalon

Merlin sipped on hot chocolate, wincing as it burnt his lips.  Morgana had forced it on him, pointing at the clock that read… he forgot, but it was something late.  She’d apparently made an executive decision (which, having adopted him, she had the authority to make) that if he couldn’t be made to leave, he could be made to have a break.

The reason he was so late was simple;  Arthur was a prat who couldn’t let him leave on time.  It wasn’t even a particularly difficult assignment!  All he had to do was follow a group of foreign spies (was it Russia or America this time?) who’d tried and failed miserably at trying to steal government secrets and were now attempting to escape through one of the copious forests surrounding London.  There hadn’t always been so many - the Uprising had caused them, wrecking enough buildings that they just sprung up - and Merlin just  _ knew  _ that if they weren’t there his life would be so much easier, mainly because he was only there to provide maps of the woods.

He finished his drink and, with a sigh, went back to his post.

 

“Seen anything yet?”

He heard Arthur yelp in surprise at his voice (though he knew he’d never in a million years admit to it), “you really are a total buffoon, aren’t you Merlin.”

“I was just asking,” he said defensively, contemplating asking Morgana to give her brother some ‘training’ - she had offered to sort him out if he was ever annoying.

“And you broke my concentration!  Stakeouts require speed, stealth, and an agile mind,  _ not  _ an idiotic handler yelling down my ear!”

“So you get by on two of those things then?”

 

A scream echoed through the forest and Arthur looked up.

“What was that?”  Merlin asked in his ear.

“Please don’t,” came a voice.

“Quiet,” he told Merlin, placing a hand on his gun.

He heard Merlin sigh, “I’ll email the medical team, put ‘em on standby for after your heroics.  And would you please turn on the camera I gave you?”

“It’s a prototype,” he hissed, “we don’t know if it works!”

“No better time to test it - I’d like to see what’s going on.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and flicked the switch on the small camera sewn into his jacket shoulder.

“Bit fuzzy,” Merlin announced, “but it’ll do.”

“Good.  Am I allowed to go and see what’s going on now?”  He said sarcastically, irritated by the distractions.  He was already running when Merlin informed him that, though he couldn’t see it, eyes were being rolled at him (“thrilling Merlin, really,”).

 

An old man cowered beneath the blows of one of the spies they’d been tailing whilst a girl, the one who’d let out the earsplitting scream, was held back by another.  Merlin grimaced at the conspicuous absence of the others - that was never a good sign.  

“No, no, I beg of you,” the man moaned as a gun was pointed at him.

“Help!  Help!”

Arthur had seen enough.  He leapt into sight, taking out the one trying to kill the old man with a well aimed shot to the back of the head.  The other in sight dropped the girl to advance on Arthur; Merlin cursed as the rest came out of hiding.  He fought and shot and took out most, protecting the man and the girl he’d wrapped in his arms.

“Arthur!”

Merlin watched as spies Arthur had failed to notice snuck up behind.  The blond agent was already occupied.  Merlin cursed again.  He thought hard - Gaius told him he’d managed to send a spell to Arthur before (granted, he was unconscious), perhaps he could replicate it?  He certainly hoped so; the paperwork he’d have to do if Arthur died on his watch was immense (plus, of course, his destiny would be thwarted and he’d miss him, but that was less important).

He put all his focus on a branch he could see in the camera, “forbærnen firgenholt.”  He felt the warm glow of his magic swell in his body and watched, relieved and proud, as the branch fell on top of the spies trying to catch Arthur unaware.

“Stroke of luck,” Arthur called it, watching as the remaining agents fled.  He heard Merlin’s slightly faded voice in his ear - “I’m getting another drink, you can deal with this bit.”

“Why do you need a drink?”  He muttered incredulously to him, “you’ve been sat at a desk all day!”

“I was covering you!  And besides, I don’t want to listen to you flirting.”

“I will not be-” Arthur spluttered before cutting himself off.  Merlin could almost see his sly smirk as he asked, “why, are you jealous?”

“Oh yeah, definitely.”

 

Arthur shook his head at his handler before looking to the pair, “you’re alright?  Didn’t hurt you?”

“No, thanks to you,” the girl smiled, stepping forward.  “I’m Sophia, and this is my father.”

Arthur smiled back at Sophia; she was beautiful, with brown hair curling down her back, clear pale skin, pale blue eyes and plump pink lips.  He took her petite hand and pressed a chaste kiss to the back of it, “Arthur Pendragon, at your service.”

 

Merlin, whatever Arthur said, was efficient.  By the time they’d returned from the forest he’d assembled the ones who needed to hear a report - Uther, Gaius, some high ups he’d never learnt the names of - and complained to Morgana about her brother being a cabbage head (“he called me a buffoon!”)

The group looked at the pair of newcomers.

“My name is Aulfric, Head of Intelligence at Tír-Mòr.  This is my daughter, Sophia.”

“You’re a long way from home,” Uther remarked.  Tír-Mòr was the codename for a tiny agency based in Ireland, concerned only with low priority cases.  “What brings you to Camelot?”

“You might have been briefed, but I am unsure - it is a recent thing.  But Tír-Mòr was attacked by the agents Agent Pendragon rescued us from… I believe it to be destroyed.”

Uther shook his head, making a mental note to up surveillance on hostile countries and shore up defences, “these are dangerous times,” he said solemnly, “what will you do?”

“We hope to offer our services in Caerleon.  We have contacts there.”

Uther nodded, “you must stay here until you are rested.  An ally is always welcome in Camelot.”

 

Merlin stood next to Arthur, observing the new arrivals.

“Make sure she’s put in a decent room,” said Arthur.  

Merlin smirked.  This was Camelot’s emergency accommodation, used only in instances of war, housing visitors, and extreme overtime - Arthur, the bloody workaholic, had spent many nights in the rooms, so much so that he had his own.  “The one next door to yours is free,” he said slyly.

“The one next door is fine.  Excellent even.”  He flashed a look beside him, “shut up, Merlin.”

“What? I didn’t say anything.”  Though he had thought very loudly that  _ Arthur  _ had a crush!

“You didn’t have to.  I want to make it clear that my intentions towards Sophia are perfectly honourable.  Put her on the other side of the rooms.  It’s warmer, more comfortable.”

What a load.  “Of course.  She, er… is very beautiful.”

“Yes, she is.”

“And if your intentions are honourable…”

“Oh, they are.  Most definitely.  Anything else is against regulations.”

“Then what’s the problem with her staying next door?  You’re not even there half the time.”  Though if Sophia was staying there, Merlin had a suspicion that Arthur would be doing a lot more over time.

“There isn’t one.  You’ve convinced me.  Put her in there.”

Arthur walked away and Merlin called after him, “I’m not a servant!” before he went to do as he was told.

 

“If you need anything,” Merlin told the newly settled in Sophia, “just ask.  People are here all hours and Arthur’s sometimes next door, so there’ll always be someone.”

“Thank you,” Sophia said, placing her belongings on the end of the bed.  Merlin took this as his cue to leave, bumping into Morgana as he did.

“Who’s that?”  she asked anxiously, catching sight of Sophia before the door closed.

“Er, Sophia from Tír-Mòr.  She’s the one I was telling you about, the one from the woods.”

“She can’t stay here,” Morgana stated, staring blankly at the door.  Merlin frowned.

“Uther said that she and her father were welcome in Camelot.  Is everything ok?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Merlin’s brow furrowed - he caught her by the arm as she turned to leave, “you don’t have to lie, Morgana.  You know I can help you.”

Her expression softened for an instant before she pulled away, “it’s fine, Merlin.”

He watched her walk away.

 

*

Merlin watched Aulfric ( _ in the same strange clothes people in his dreams always wore _ ) talking to the spies ( _ bandits _ ) they’d rescued him from.

“You can dispense with the unpleasantries - your payment,” he held out a small leather pouch.

“I want more.  My friends are dead because of you.”

“Yes.  I’m sorry.  Such a dreadful waste of life.  But, if it’s any consolation, you’ll see them again soon.  Má réðe cine týne!”  He used the staff in his hand to kill the agent ( _ bandit _ ).

_ What was going on?  Was this true?  Was Aulfric evil - was Sophia?  Or was this just a dream? _

_ Dreams had never steered him wrong before. _

He forgot it in the morning.

*

Morgana saw her - saw Sophia - standing over Arthur in the water.  He was thrashing, drowning, and then stilling.

She woke with a scream dying on her lips.

_ Gaius said it was just a nightmare. _

*

 

“I’m showing Sophia around London today,” Arthur announced when he arrived the next morning, clapping a hand on Merlin’s shoulder - Merlin looked up suspiciously at him.

“Where do I come into this?”

“Well, I’m supposed to be reporting to my father today, so I need you to cover for me.”

And  _ there  _ it was.  “Lie to Uther?  No way.  No, he’d see right through me.  I don’t know what he’d do to me, but I’d be punished quicker than you can say ‘rotten tomatoes’.”

“Merlin.”

Merlin sighed; it was obvious he was going to end up doing it.  Still, he could hold out a little longer for the sake of his dignity.

“I need you to do this for me,” Arthur told him.

“I am a terrible liar.  I start sweating, my- my vision blurs, my- my brain stops working-”

“Same as always then.”  Merlin frowned; perhaps he wouldn’t give in.  Arthur carried on talking, oblivious as ever to his handler’s displeasure, “look, I promised I’d take her and if I don’t show I’ll blow my chances.” 

“Blow your chances at what?”  Merlin bit his lip; a crush was fine (and prime teasing material) but actually dating was something else altogether - look what happened to Lance!  (Although Lancelot was actually happier than he’d ever been, taking Gwen on a date night every Saturday.  It was the most romantic thing Merlin had ever seen happen in real life and he very much looked forward to Gwen’s Sunday texts about how amazing it was; he was already predicting when they’d get married, though he’d never admit to it.)  Arthur didn’t want to leave the action, Merlin knew that; he was far too restless not to be a field agent.

“Oh, shut up, Merlin.  I just want to spend some time getting to know her, and I need my father oof my back.”  He looked down, “I can’t order you to lie to Uther, but... you’d be a mate for life if you did.”

That was definitely one of the most manipulative things Merlin had ever heard.

And it definitely wasn’t the reason why he huffed, nodded, and said, “go on then, you don’t want to keep her waiting.”

“Thanks, Merlin.  I won’t forget it.”

Merlin scoffed and began preparing his lie.

 

“Where’s my son?”

Merlin gulped as Uther marched in, on the warpath.  “I’m not sure where he is.  I, erm, I think there’s been a mistake.  But it’s not his fault.  Arthur’s, I mean.”

“Stop gibbering and tell me where he is.”

“It’s probably… no, it’s definitely my fault.”  (Arthur so owed him for this.)

“Where is Arthur?”

“He’s not here.”

“I can see that,” and now he was annoyed.  Marvelous.

“Arthur wasn’t sure of his orders so he asked me to check, and… well… I may have forgotten.”  Merlin didn’t have to fake his grimace.

“If this was a time of emergency,” Uther growled, “I’d have you flogged.”

Merlin swallowed heavily - there was no doubt in his mind that Uther was telling the truth, “and since it’s not, we’ll let it go just this once?”

 

Turns out Arthur had a lot of paperwork.

Merlin groaned as he started on the first of about a million sheets of paper.

He didn’t know it quite yet, but when he collapsed into bed that night he would dream of the stocks ( _ “I forgot how much I missed this!” he said, covered in mashed, rotten fruit _ ).

 

Arthur, meanwhile, was having a wonderful time getting to know Sophia; he’d always known close contact was the best cure for infatuation.  Yes, he still thought her beautiful, but she wasn’t as good a conversationalist as his friends, and she shared very few interests with him.  Still, it was nice to spend time with her.

“Come on,” he said, “the rivers not far from here.”

“Arthur, wait.”

“What is it?”

She took his hands in her’s, looking deep into his blue eyes, “túce hwón frec’úre, artur.”

“You there,” came a distant voice, “halt!”

 

Arthur shoved Sophia safely behind a tree, dodging a flying bullet that scuffed a tree.  The staff she held tumbled out of her grip.

“Sorry!”

“Sorry!?”  Arthur looked incredulously into the distance where he could see a young agent, still wet behind the ears, could be seen, “you nearly shot me in the face!  What do you mean you’re sorry?”

Sophia looked nervously at the gouge in bark the bullet had left.  That was close.  Far too close.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” she said quietly, “thanks to you.”

“They were looking for the agents who attacked you yesterday,” he explained, bending to grab the staff, “here.”

“Don’t touch that!”  She grabbed it roughly from him.

“I’m sorry.  Perhaps we should go back.”

“It’s fine,” she said hurriedly, “I- I’m sorry, I was upset.  Now, don’t let this spoil our day together.  We were having such a nice time.  Let’s go down to the river.”

Arthur shook his head, “I’m taking you back to Camelot.  Your father would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you.”

Sophia scowled unnoticed as Arthur lead the way home.

 

“Why are you so late?”  Gaius frowned at Merlin as he entered the house; Merlin scowled.

“Uther had me doing all of Arthur’s paperwork.”

“What’d you do this time?”

Why did Gaius always assume it was his fault?  “Nothing.”  Gaius looked at him dubiously, “honestly, it wasn’t my fault!  Arthur wanted to get out of reporting to Uther and the guard, so I covered for him and took the blame.”

“And Arthur was prepared to let you do this?”

“It was his idea.”

“And what made him neglect his duties?  It must have been something terribly important.”

Merlin smirked, “Sophia.”

“The girl from the forest?”

“He wanted to take her out for the day,” he smirked again, thinking of all the teasing he was going to do, “he has a crush!”

“Uther would never allow anything to happen” Gaius said, putting a damper on everything.

“I know, and so does he; that’s why he didn’t tell him.”  He shrugged, “he’ll be over it soon, I’m sure.”

“Yes.  I suppose he will be.”

 

Morgana Pendragon considered herself a reasonable, rational woman.  Her missions depended upon her brains, her logical reasoning, her ability to think things through before she acted.  And yet… there was something about her dreams that defied logic - she just  _ knew _ that Sophia couldn’t be trusted.  She just knew that she was going to hurt her brother.

She’d mentioned it to Gwen, and she’d told her to tell Uther.  But what would she say?  That she could see the future?  No, that was unthinkable.  She might be his adoptive daughter but his hatred of magic outweighed his love of his children; she’d be dead within a week.

So her path was clear.

She’d warn Sophia off herself.

 

“Sorry!”  her target said, her shoulder having knocked against Morgana as she walked down the narrow corridor, “Morgana, isn’t it?  I’m Sophia.”

“What are you doing here?”  She stared down at the girl, drawing herself up to her most intimidating.  She was, annoyingly, unfazed.

“My father and I are guests of the head.”

“You’re lying.  I know what you’re going to do to him,” she growled, “and I won’t let it happen.”

“Does Arthur know how jealous you get?”  She laughed, “of course he does.  I’m suspect he’s already suffered at its hands.”

“Don’t think you can make a fool out of me.”

“I won’t have to.  You’re doing that yourself.”

God, she wanted to wring that scrawny little neck herself, “stay away from him.”

“Or what?  Envy is such an unattractive trait in a woman.  I wonder what you’ll be like if you ever manage to ensnare a boyfriend, seeing how you act with your brother.”

Wringing her neck was still an option.  Her fingers twitched by her sides and she clenched them into fists, “if anything happens to Arthur, I’ll find you.  However long it takes.”

Sophia scoffed and walked away, leaving Morgana to glare after her.  She pulled her phone out of her pocket.

_ To:  Merlin Myrddin _

_ I need to talk to you _ _   
_ _ about Sophia _

She hesitated, her thumb hovering over send.  Shaking her head suddenly, she deleted it.  The last thing she wanted was to drag Merlin into this mess.  She’d nearly lost him to Nimueh’s poison... she wasn’t going to risk her adopted child (adult, but not really) again.  No.  She’d fix this herself.

 

“You weren’t gone as long as I expected,” Aulfric said as Sophia entered his room.

“We were interrupted.”

“What happened?”

“I was nearly killed.  For a moment, I felt what it would be like to die a mortal death.”  She shivered, wrapping an arm around herself, “he saved me.  Someone so weak, so feeble, saved me!  I can’t bear to be like this a moment longer.”  She sounded petulant, she knew, but no matter.  Her father had to know her feelings.

“You won’t have to,” he said comfortingly, “once the heart is yours the gates of Avalon will open to us and we will regain our true forms.”

She sighed, “I need a little more time.”

“You must hurry.  The physician sees us for what we really are.”  He scowled at the memory; Gaius had investigated his daughter’s unlocked room and found her staff… it was most troubling.

“And he is not alone,” Sophia said nervously, “Morgana, too.  She fears her powers, but that will not keep her quiet for long.”

“Tomorrow, you have to finish the enchantment,” he said nervously, “otherwise our chance to be rid of these mortal shells will be gone forever.”

 

“You seem very fond of her,” Morgana said, walking into Arthur’s office.  He rolled his eyes - she was making an unwelcome habit of this.

“Sophia?  You make it sound like a bad thing.”

“Not necessarily.  It’s just that Uther would never allow such a thing.”

He grinned at her, “don’t worry yourself.  It’s only a crush, and I’ve dealt with that before.  I’ll spend another outing getting to know how dull she can be, and then it’ll be fine.”

Morgana laughed, “she’s boring?”

“Not particularly, but she can’t compare to active service.”

“Thank god.  I had a bad feeling about her?”

“Bad feeling?”

“It’s difficult to describe.  A dream.  A nightmare.”

“Ha!  You and your feelings.”

“I’m trying to save your life!  She isn’t what she seems!”

Arthur shook his head, “fine.  If it makes you feel better I’ll make this next one my last trip with her.”

“You’re having another outing?”

“Hopefully,” he scratched at his neck, “I haven’t actually convinced Merlin to cover for me yet.”

“You’re intolerable,” she laughed, “I just hope I’m wrong about her.”

 

“Arthur?  What are you doing here?  You’re supposed to be with your father!  He’s talking to new agents today!”  Merlin stared at the blond waiting for him by his desk, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“I’m giving it a miss.”

“Won’t Uther mind?”

“Not if you, er, cover for me, again.  By the way, thanks for yesterday, I heard you ended up with my paperwork. Bad luck.”

Merlin scowled at him, “it took me hours.  And he’s threatening me with a flogging.”

“I’m sure he won’t,” Arthur said soothingly, “but if it’s any consolation, I think it was worth it.”

“It went well then?”

“Great.  Fantastic.  She’ll be a wonderful friend.”

“Friend?”

“You thought I was going to try and date her?”  Arthur scoffed, “no chance.  Father would kill me.”

Merlin smiled, relieved, “well… I’ll get you out of it.”

“Just make sure you’re not lumbered with my work again.”

“I won’t.”  Merlin smiled confidently, “I think I’m getting the hang of this deception lark.”

 

Merlin looked unhappily at the towering pile of paper beside his own on the desk.

 

“Wai- wait!”  Arthur scrambled up the muddy hill after Sophia.  She slipped and he caught her by the arm, “careful.”

“Don’t worry, I will be.”  This was her chance, her last chance.  She could do this.  She would do this.  She would  _ not _ fail again, “túce hwón frec ‘úre, artur.”

“What are you doing?”  Arthur frowned as Sophia clasped his hands.

“Þec nom feoh gyse.  Cume morðor rice ær.  Túce hwón frec úre, artur.”

Sophia smiled at her handiwork as Arthur’s eyes glowed crimson.

 

“Not again, Merlin, surely?”  Gaius watched his irritated nephew shuffle through the door.

“You would think the that the appeal of giving the same person extra work would wear off after a while, but no!”

Gaius narrowly avoided smirking, “I heard that Arthur wasn’t at the initiation ceremony.”

“Yeah, he wanted to make the most of the time left with Sophia.”

“So you helped him?”

“Of course I did.  It’s not like he’s going to date her.  He told me, they’re just friends.”

“You shouldn’t have done that, Merlin.  I fear Sophia isn’t all she seems.”

Merlin frowned - if she was up to something, and he’d helped her get Arthur in her clutches… “Why?”

“What do you know about seers?”

Merlin frowned.  “Not much.”  He’d never met one, but he’d been told about them in college by Freya; she’d grown up with a few of them in her druidic camp before she left it, “they’re supposed to be able to see the future, like prophets, right?”

“It’s said to be an innate ability.  Those who have it are born that way.  Some aren’t even aware that what they see is the future.  It comes to them in their dreams.”

“What’s that got to do with Sophia?”  If she was able to See what they were planning to do to counter her before they did it, it would not be good.

“The night before she and Aulfric came to Camelot, Morgana had a dream.  Sophia was in it.”

“Before she arrived?”

 

_ Morgana  _ was a Seer?  Morgana had magic, like him?  Something clicked into place in his head - of course she did.  Of course Morgana had magic.  How hadn’t he known?

“I’ve been watching Morgana since she was very young.  And though I tried to persuade myself otherwise, I realised that some of the things she said she’d dreamt came to pass.  I kept it secret from Uther, of course.  The gift of prophecy is too close to the work of magic.”

“Morgana’s a Seer?  That’s… amazing!”

“I fear so.  Morgana said that she dreamt of Sophia killing Arthur.”

“Couldn’t that just be a dream?”  he said desperately, suddenly less thrilled at the thought of Morgana being a Seer, “maybe the woman Morgana saw just looked like Sophia.”

“That’s what I hoped,” Gaius sighed, “but Aulfric caught me in Sophia’s room and, in a flash of anger, his eyes changed colour.”

Merlin let out a hiss, “who are they?”

“It’s not who they are that worry me.  It’s what they want with Arthur.”

 

Arthur’s mind was foggy.  God knows how he’d got to his chambers… room.  God knows how he’d got to his room.  His every thought was beyond his reach, obscured by the hazy mist.  It was Sophia’s voice that cut through like a knife.

“Our love is strong.  You feel the same way, too.  If we were ever to be parted…”

_ Gods, no.  It was just a crush, and now it was over! _

“I’d never let that happen,” he heard himself say.

“You may not have a choice,” she whispered, “there are some who don’t want us to be together.”

_ Including me! _

“I’ll never let them come between us,” he whispered back to her.

“Because we’re in love,” she said, stroking his cheek.

He tried to recoil, “because we’re in love.”

_ We’re what? _

“You must speak permission for us to marry… so that we can be together.”

_ Marriage?  What would Uther say?   _ “Till death do us part.”

“Túce hwón frec’úre, artur,” Sophia’s eyes glowed crimson as she pressed her lips to his.  “Till death do us part.”

 

Merlin wasn’t an agent, but handling Arthur had allowed him to pick up a few tips.  So he went unnoticed as he crept behind Aulfric, silent as a shadow, following him as he rounded a corner near Arthur’s rooms.  He followed him to a lake and hid behind a tree to hear him speak.

He raised his staff, crying out a spell, “dotiag-sa ar idbairt do denam!”  Blue sparks ( _ fairies _ ) appeared over the lake as he chanted.  “I come before you for the chance to win passage back to Avalon and a life of immortality!”

Immortality?  Surely that was impossible.  Merlin frowned - even if it was possible, it sounded less than pleasant.  He wouldn’t care much to watch the world move on, watch people die around him.

The Sidhe elder came into focus; his skin was blue, his face pointed and cruel.  When he spoke, his voice was sharp, “your punishment for killing another Sidhe is a mortal body and a mortal life,  You will never be able to return to Avalon.”

“The crime was mine, not my daughter’s.”

“The gates of Avalon remain closed to your daughter.  Unless the soul of a mortal prince is offered up to them.”

“Thank you.  An immortal life for my daughter is all that I desire, so I promise you the soul of the greatest prince of all.  Arthur Pendragon!”

Aulfric laughed malevolently as Merlin shook his head confusedly.  Arthur, despite his arrogance, stupid posh tastes and rich family, was definitely not a prince.  So why were the Sidhe happy to offer up  _ his  _ soul?  That was probably a question to ponder later.  A lot later, when Arthur’s soul was completely out of danger.  He sighed - how was  _ this _ his life?

 

“Avalon?”  Gaius stared at him like he’d grown another head, “you saw Avalon?”

Merlin nodded, “but what’s…”  He paused.  He knew what Avalon was, though he didn’t know how, “the land of eternal youth.”

Gaius looked at him strangely and he shrugged; it must just be one of those things.  “Mortals are only supposed to glimpse it at the moment of death.”

“Well, I saw it and I’m still here.”  He decided not to look too deeply into what that might mean.

“Extraordinary.  What did it look like?”

“Does it matter?”  Merlin paused and changed his answer, “I’ll tell you later.  But right now we have to fix this - they’re about to sacrifice Arthur’s soul and we don’t even know who ‘they’ are yet, and they’re going to be very disappointed when they realise he’s not a prince.”

“We do now,” Gaius said, opening a book, “I found writing like this on the top of Aulfric’s staff.  It’s Ogham, an ancient script.  Abas ocus bithe Duthectad bithlane; ‘to hold life and death in your hands’.  From this and Avalon, I’m afraid I’m now certain.  We’re dealing with the Sidhe.”

Merlin grimaced.  Whenever Gaius said he was afraid, it always went to pot.  “That doesn’t sound good.  And I don’t suppose telling they’ve picked the wrong soul will help?”

“Merlin,” Gaius sighed, “if the Sidhe call Arthur a mortal prince…  No, that’s far too complicated for me.  Ask Kilgharrah about it; his rambling will no doubt get to it.  The Sidhe though… they’re masters of enchantment.”

He didn’t bother to ask what was so complicated, nor did he ponder how bad it must be if Gaius was  _ telling  _ him to talk to Kilgharrah, instead focussing on the matter in hand, “you think Arthur’s been enchanted?”

“Almost certainly.  I’m afraid Morgana’s dream is coming true.”

 

Arthur saw no way to break through the daze his mind was in.  He saw his father on his seat as if looking through another’s body, and though it was his voice that spoke it felt distant.  Sophia pushed him forward, taking a place further back.

“I request this audience, Father, to discuss a matter of great importance.  It cannot have escaped your attention that Sophia and I,” he felt himself smile at her ( _ sickening _ ), “have grown very close.”

“Not too close, I hope.”

“We’re in love.”   _ We are not.   _ “Which is why I came to ask your permission to marry.”

Uther laughed and the little part of Arthur that was still himself rejoiced - he was going to stop it.  “I assume you’re joking.”

_ I wish I was.   _ “No.  I’m going to marry her.”

“You met her two days ago, and it is - as I’m sure you remember - against the rules.”

“We’re in love.”

“In love?  We had no idea you were such a romantic, had we, Morgana?”   _ God, I’m not!  That’s Merlin’s job!  Please let Morgana notice something was wrong.  Please. _

She was looking at him strangely, “no, he’s full of surprises.”  She gave away nothing.  The little Arthur that remained could only hope she’d seen something in him that was out of the ordinary.

“I’m going to marry her.  I don’t care what either of you two think.”   _ Good lord, I’m a stubborn prat whilst enchanted! _

“I thought you’d come to ask my permission,” Uther said coldly, his grip on the arm of his chair tightening.

“Out of courtesy, nothing more.”

Uther scowled, “you forget whose compound you stand in,” he growled.

“You won’t stop me.  If I want to marry her,”  _ or even if I don’t, apparently _ , “I will.”

“Arrest Sophia and Aulfric,” Uther said, waving the guards towards them.

“What are you doing?”   _ Thank god. _

“They will remain in custody until Caerleon come to collect them.”

“You can’t go this,”  _ please, please do. _

“Yes, I can, and unless you show some respect I will!”

Arthur bowed his head, and Uther nodded, ordering their release.  He and Morgana left, and Arthur ‘decided’ to return to his room.

 

“Get out.”

Arthur watched Merlin sigh at his harsh voice, “I thought Uther was a bit harsh.”

“I don’t need sympathy, Merlin, especially not from you.”

“But,” Merlin said cautiously, “I did think he had a point.”

_ God, of course Merlin was going to push it.  At least that means he’s against it.   _ “I ordered you to get out!  Now leave me!”

“I know what you think you’re doing, and I know you think you’re in love with Sophia…”

_ I do not.   _ “Who are you to tell me what I’m thinking?”

“I’m your  _ friend _ .”

 

If Arthur had been in his right mind, that simple sentence would no doubt have sent a nice warm glow coursing through his stomach.  As he was now, however, he had to make do with the tiny part of himself that wasn’t under Sophia’s control gathering it up and storing it away whilst the rest of it retorted angrily, “no, Merlin, you’re my handler.”

_ I’m sorry Merlin. _  His friend’s face twisted almost unnoticeably into a look of pain before he spoke again, forcing himself to be neutral, “you don’t know what you’re doing.  She’s enchanted you.”

_ At least someone knows.   _ He would have cursed, if he could, as he spotted Sophia and Aulfric stood in the doorway, watching.

“I told you people would try and keep us apart.”

“I know,” was dragged out, “I won’t let that happen.”

“Look, don’t listen to her,” Merlin begged, “she’s controlling you.”

“We can elope together,” Sophia said smoothly, “get away from this place, these people.”

_ But I rather like this place, these people. _

“I saw you,” Merlin spat at them.  He turned back to Arthur, “I followed him.  They’re planning to sacrifice you.”

_ They’re what? _

“You let your employees talk to guests like that?”  Aulfric asked incredulously.

“I know what you’re going to do,” Merlin growled, “because I followed you to the lake and I heard everything.”  He looked desperately to Arthur, “you have to believe me.”

_ I do, honestly Merlin. _

 

Sophia was still masquerading as a love-struck fool, though there was no one in the room that believed her, “don’t listen to him, Arthur.  Let’s leave.  Let’s go tonight.”

“She’s going to kill you.  Sophia plans to sacrifice you in return for a life of immortality.  If you go with her, you will die.”

Arthur frowned; the spell was tugging at his voice but he was fighting, fighting hard, “I- I-  But we’re… in love…  We…” he took a clearing breath, “Merlin-”

 

Merlin grabbed at the staff in Aulfric’s hands, “they’re magical beings - look at the writing!”

The man’s vicious eyes glowed blood red.

“Arthur, look at him,” Merlin gasped, “look at his eyes.  Do you believe me?  Do you see, Arthur?”

 

The fog was gathering again in Arthur’s mind.  He couldn’t focus.  He couldn’t think.  “I see everything.”

Merlin lunged once more for the staff as Arthur’s eyes shone red - the spell had taken a fresh hold, he would not break through again without his help.

“Na mben sis!”

Merlin was flung back against the wall.  There was a crack, and then there was nothing.

 

“He’s gone,”  Morgana shrieked as she charged towards Gaius, nearly crashing into him, “Arthur’s gone with her!  She’s taken him!”

“Slow down,” Gaius said, placing a comforting hand on her forearm.

“I know you don’t believe me,” she said hurriedly, “but I’m so sure it’s going to happen.  My dream’s going to come true.”

“I do believe you.”

“I’ve got to tell Uther.”

“You can’t,” he said seriously.  Uther would kill her.  Without hesitation.

“Then what do I do?  I can’t let him die.”

“You can’t tell Uther - if he thinks you’ve got the Seer’s gift, he’ll charge you with witchcraft.”

Morgana tugged at her hair, “I couldn’t leave with myself knowing I’d let him die.  I said I wouldn’t, but...”

“Wouldn’t what?”

She sighed heavily, “I only know one person who can help.  Do you… do you know where Merlin is?”

 

Merlin groaned as the world flickered back into focus.  He gently probed the back of his head, wincing at the large protruding lump he found.

“Merlin!  What happened to you?”

His slightly glazed blue eyes followed Gaius and Morgana as they ran in.  Morgana bolted over to heave him up.

“Aulfric happened,” he moaned.  He blinked, “hi Morgana, thanks.  Where’s Arthur?”

Silence.

“I have to go after him,” he wobbled as the arms supporting him were removed, “I have to… what’s that buzzing noise?”

“Careful Merlin,” Morgana held out her hands to catch him if he fell, “you can barely stand.”

“I have to go,” he said, waving her away.  She frowned at him as he shook his head to clear it.

“You can’t,” Gaius insisted, “it’s only down to your powers that you survived this at all!”

“I’ll be fine.  He needs me.”

Morgana rolled her eyes at her adopted boy’s stupid, stupid loyalty.  “Has the buzzing stopped?”

“Yeah.”

She scoffed, “liar.”

“I have to go.  If I don’t  he’ll die.”

“The Sidhe are vicious people,” Gaius said, resigning himself to the fact he couldn’t halt his nephew in his idiocy, “you must be careful.”

“Don’t worry.”  Merlin set off on his unsteady walk, “I know what I’m doing.”

“Merlin?”  Morgana crossed her arms, raising an amused eyebrow as Gaius shook his head, “this way.”

“Just testing.”

“Would you please take an earpiece?”  She didn’t want to leave him unaccompanied, not when he was just as likely to bumble into their clutches as he was to defeat them.

“No time.”  He ran off the right way this time, thank god, and they all pretended not to notice that he nearly tripped over.  (It was a good job he didn’t.  He couldn’t really afford the loss of any more brain cells.)

 

“Go,” Aulfric said softly, his hand pushing gently at the small of his daughter’s back, “they’re waiting for you.”

“I don’t understand,” Sophia said, “you’re coming to.”

“Only one of us can pass through.  This was never meant for me.”

“I only wanted this so we could both return to Avalon.”

“Your destiny is on a different path to mine.  It is my fate to live a mortal life.”  This was his punishment, and his only regret was that he had come so close to condemning his daughter to the same destiny.

“I don’t want to leave you,” she choked.

“You must.  Once the ceremony begins you have to go through with it.  The elders expect a soul.  If they don’t get his they will take your’s.”

“Goodbye.”  She held her father tightly, never wanting to let go and knowing that she must.  “I will never forget you.”

She took the limp hand of her prey and took him into the lake.

_ Merlin ran through the forest, leaping over tree roots and begging the fates to keep Arthur alive, just long enough for him to get there - he’d do the rest. _

Aulfric held his staff aloft, looking proudly upon his daughter, “Ia bend dǽdon níwe.  Cúðon gare íewe deahl sǽ áre.  Sé áre. Ig bæþ deahl sǽ néah.  Déaþ ór cwylþ óga him.”

_ He tripped, landing heavily on the ground.  He panted, the air knocked out of him by the fall, before pushing himself up and running again.  He had to get there. _

“An ‘wén. Flíete á. Dómdæg. Déaþ ór cwylþ óga him. An ‘wén. Flíete á.”

Sophia pressed her lips firmly against Arthur’s.  He didn’t stir to reciprocate or refuse.

“Dómdæg.  Déaþ ór cwylþ óga him.  An ‘wén.  Flíete á.  Dómdæg.  Déaþ ór cwylþ óga him, Arthur Pendragon.”

Arthur fell backwards, crashing into the water.

_ Merlin kept running, desperate and breathing hard.  He had to reach Arthur in time. _

“Ia bend dǽdon níwe.  Cúðon gare íewe deahl sǽ néah.  Sé áre.  Ig bæþ deahl sǽ néah.  An ‘wén.  Flíete á.  Dómdæg.  Déaþ ór cwylþ óga him.”

 

Merlin arrived on the scene.  His heart pounded and his chest heaved with the effort of sprinting.  Aulfric’s chants echoed in the background - he was far more interested in Sophia’s staff, abandoned on the ground.

“Onbregdan,” he muttered; it flew happily into his hand and he pointed it at Aulfric.  “Swilte, gold beorþ.”

A bolt of light hit Aulfric and he… exploded.

 

It was less gory than Merlin had expected.  And it was far easier to kill him than he’d expected, too.  He felt little pity when Sophia screamed, crying out for her father and trying to run to shore.  He pointed the staff at her and in a few words, she was dead too.

Was he supposed to feel empty?

 

No - he didn’t feel empty.  There was guilt.  And far larger, there was fear.

“Arthur!”  He tore off his jacket as he ran into the water, “Arthur!  Arthur!”  The water was cold, numbing his legs as he looked desperately for some sign of Arthur.  It was an agonising few moments before he saw the shock of blond hair beneath the surface.  He grabbed him tightly and dragged him back to the shore.

“Gods, Arthur,” he breathed, looking down at his blue tinged lips, limp limbs, freezing pale skin.

He had to get him to Gaius.

 

The medical room was near silent, save for the heart monitor beeping out a comforting, steady pulse.  Merlin and Gaius sat by Arthur’s side - Morgana had finally been convinced to go and sleep, on the condition that someone would be sent to fetch her when he woke - in uncomfortable quiet (Gaius had wanted Merlin to sleep, too, but how could he?).

Arthur’s hand twitched.

 

“Arthur?  Arthur?”  

Merlin’s relieved face came into focus as Arthur blinked blearily, “what happened?  Where am I?”

“Can you remember anything?”

Arthur furrowed his brow as he thought - it came up blank, interrupted only with sharp throbs of pain.  “Ow!  Oh, my head,” he groaned, rubbing it as if that would help.  Something was coming back, thankfully, “there was a girl.”  Merlin nodded encouragingly at him, smiling in a way that (in a strictly off-record way) sent a not at all unpleasant thrill through his stomach.  Arthur ignored that and wracked his brains, “Sophia, she… I asked my father something about her, I asked him…”  He sat bolt upright, the colour draining from his face, “what was I thinking?”

“Well, we were wondering,” Merlin snickered, attracting Arthur’s glare (forget anything he thought about Merlin’s smile; it was irritating and very much unpleasant).  He continued, ignoring Arthur’s displeasure, “especially since you eloped last night.”

I did  _ what _ ?”  Arthur gasped out - his father was going to kill him.  How drunk was he to elope and then forget?  (Had he been drunk?  He didn’t remember any drinking…)

“Merlin had to bring you back,” Gaius said with thinly veiled amusement.

“Why can’t I remember any of this?”

“Must have been some blow…”

“What blow?”

“Well, er,” Merlin scrambled to remember the agreed story (it had been the plan to just tell it to Uther, but seeing how Arthur had forgotten…), “when I caught up with you, I couldn’t persuade you to return.  You were beyond reason.”

_ Trying to hold Arthur upright long enough to heave him home had been difficult.  Merlin’s muscles had been screaming at him and his head pounded.  He remembered crying, a little - the tears had blurred the edges of his vision.  He hadn’t meant to cry, but Arthur had looked so cold, so lifeless… _

“So I had to make you,” he finished.

 

Arthur frowned, “ _ you  _ managed to knock me out?”  That scrawny excuse for a man had managed to take him out?  Impossible.

“Yep.  With a lump of wood.”

He sounded far too pleased with himself and Arthur glowered at him.

“He only did it to get you home safely,” Gaius defended.

“No one can know about this,” he snapped, thinking of his dignity (to be overcome by…  _ sentiment _ , and then knocked out by  _ Merlin _ on top of all of it?), “any of it.  Is that understood?”

Gaius and Merlin looked amusedly at each other before nodding at him.  He nodded in satisfaction and sank into his pillows as Merlin ran to give Morgana the news.

 

Arthur had been dreading the morning meeting.  Luckily for him, Gaius and Merlin had managed the impossible - his hospitalization had been kept strictly out of Uther’s ears.  In fact, he was fairly sure Morgana was the only other person who’d known.

“When you failed to turn up for patrol this morning, I feared you’d eloped with Sophia in a fit of passion,” Uther laughed, only half joking.  Arthur was sincerely glad for his excellent poker face; he turned hopefully to Merlin.

Merlin concealed a sigh.  The things he did for the prat, honestly.  He should ask for a bonus.  “I- I wish he had,” he stuttered, flinching at Uther’s attention, “because then I wouldn’t be stood in front of you feeling like an idiot… again.”

Gaius shook his head, unseen, as Uther frowned down at Merlin, “this is becoming a near daily occurrence for you,” he observed.  Merlin flushed.

“But there was a mistake.  And I wouldn’t say it was anyone’s fault.  Not - not really.”   _ Oh yeah, that was going to convince people _ .  “Erm, you could say it was mine…”

Uther sighed, “could someone tell me what happened?”

“Well-”

“Someone with a brain.”

Merlin clamped his mouth firmly shut as Agent Ungrateful Prat took centre stage, “after Sophia left, I wanted to take my mind off her, so I went for a walk.”

Morgana - who, by the way, knew everything (just in general, not just about this terrible lie) - allowed a well-hidden smirk as she picked away at Arthur’s story, “just a walk?  Since when do you just go for a walk?”

“Turns out its good fun,” Arthur said smoothly, “and Merlin was meant to inform you I’d be away for a while.”

Uther stared at Merlin, “do you have some kind of mental affliction?”

Merlin scowled briefly at Arthur and, ignoring Morgana’s cough that obviously concealed a giggle, answered, “probably.”

“I’m looking into it, sir,” Gaius said - Merlin looked at him, betrayed.

“Well, I hope for Merlin’s sake you find a cure, or he’ll find himself with a permanent lack of free time.”

Merlin gave a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.

 

Arthur’s work was becoming far too familiar, Merlin decided - at this rate the next time he didn’t have overtime, it was going to feel like he was skiving!  He glared at the pile of papers as the final straggling tech workers left, Morgana and Gaius wandered over.

“Arthur told me what really happened,” Morgana said, sounding thoroughly entertained by the whole business, “you must have hit him very hard.”

“Yeah, I feel really bad about that, actually.”

Morgana smiled at him, “you’re a brave man, Merlin.”  She leant in for a tight hug, the scent of her perfume filling Merlin’s lungs, “thank you for saving my brother.”

Merlin beamed back at her when he was released.

Gaius took a bottle from his pocket and handed it to Morgana, “remember Morgana, drink this every night before bed.”

“Thank you, Gaius.”

 

Merlin looked confusedly at Gaius as Morgana left.  His mentor shook his head, “she must never know the truth.”

“Wha- why not?  She had a premonition that saved Arthur’s life!”

“And nearly cost her her own!  If Uther had found out… It must remain a secret.”

Merlin frowned - that hardly seemed fair.  Why was it up to them to decide that Morgana shouldn’t know about something so deeply ingrained in her being?  He swallowed, “is she like me?  Can she use magic?”

“No one is like you, Merlin.”

“But she has the gift?”

“For her sake, I hope not.”

Merlin sighed, playing with his pen.  He didn’t want to lie to Morgana, who’d been so kind to him and kept his secret so well.  But then, he’d never gone against Gaius’ instructions.  He’d never known him to be wrong before.  “...If she asks,” he said finally, “I will tell her everything.  I won’t lie to her, Gaius.”

 

Morgana screamed herself awake.


	7. Chapter 6 - Operation Mordred

“No, no, not _there_!  God, Arthur, do you want to be killed?”

“Merlin,” Arthur growled in response, “how about you actually _tell_ me where to go.”

“I tried, but you didn’t listen!  Now, go right, _not_ left, and avoid running into any more trouble.”

“I don’t go looking for it,” Arthur groused, scowling up at one of the security cameras he knew Merlin was in control of.

 

Merlin took a sip of water.  A scream echoed in his ears and he turned back with a sigh; “I leave for three seconds - what did you do?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The scream, obviously!”

“What scream?”

Merlin frowned - there was no way anyone could have missed that scream if they were near it.  It was harsh and terrified and so very young.  He bit his lip, “I’m putting someone else on for a bit.  I think I need a break.”

“Merlin?   Are you o-”

He motioned some nameless person towards the screen and told Gaius distractedly that he was taking his break, ignoring him as he asked if he was feeling alright - he could hardly tell him that he was hearing screams no one else could.  Another scream tore through the air and he broke into a run, following an instinctive tug in his gut that told him where to go; if it turned out to be all in his head he’d deal with it later (insanity couldn’t be that bad, surely).

 

Pausing in the London markets, panting hard, Merlin looked around, palm flexed instinctively.  If he’d had a mirror he’d have seen the gold encroaching on the edge of his irises as his magic swelled, ready to defend

_Help!_

He inhaled sharply, staring around him.  The voice of a young boy sounded in his head; he knew suddenly that it was only in his mind… telepathic, like Kilgharrah’s first summons.  People were looking at him strangely but he didn’t care - there was a child in danger, and he had to save him.

_Help me, please!_

Merlin carried on a scan of the area, his eyes finally landing on a thin child crouching low near a mossy stone wall.  His wide, terrified eyes were piercing blue, and his dark hair was nearly covered by his woollen cape - a druid cape (he recognised it from the ones people in Freya’s camp used to wear).  The boy saw Merlin’s gaze land on him.

_Please, you have to help me.  Help me!_

Merlin stayed silent, still reeling from the unexpected telepathic intrusion and unable to tear his eyes away from the boy, even as agents began to flood the market.

“Search in there.  You, take the other side.”  They looked at Merlin, “did you see a boy run through here?”

He shook his head, barely listening to their words.  His eyes wandered from the boy to watch the men.

_They’re searching for me._

Merlin sucked in a breath; telepathy was just thinking at people, right?   _Why are they after you?_ He kept his eyes carefully averted, lest the agents follow his line of sight.  When the boy ‘spoke’ again it was not to answer his question, but to tell him in a panic:

_They’re going to kill me!_

 

“Over here,” an agent called out.  His point was dangerously close to the boy.  Merlin bit his lip, making his choice in a split second.

 _This way.  Run.  Run!_  He started a casual walk towards the boy.  The boy dashed into him, clutching a wounded arm with dried tear tracks marking his face.

“Hey, there he is!  Alert the rest of the men!”

Merlin and the boy paled.  Merlin grabbed his hand and ran, dread unfurling in the pit of his stomach as the agents yelled and chased.

 

One of the advantages of working with security cameras was that Merlin knew every secret entrance into Camelot like the back of his hand, and the times they’d be patrolled.  It was sheer good fortune that there was one unattended that let him in, bypassing the main gate.  He was as yet unsure as to whether crashing into Morgana was a good thing.

“Merlin?  What are you doing?”

“The agents are after him,” he hissed, motioning to the boy.  He was drooping, made pallid by blood loss; Merlin scooped him up, not wanting him to gain a concussion on top of everything, “do you know anywhere they won’t search?”

Morgana hesitated a moment, her logic (if either she or Merlin was caught with a wanted boy, they’d be interrogated or killed) warring with her compassion (he was just a child), “my office,” she said finally, “only me, Gwen and Arthur know where it is.  Come on, quickly.”

“Thank you,” he breathed, following after her at a trot, trying hard not to jolt the boy cradled in his arms.

 

When they were secreted safely in her office he placed the boy gently on a rug.  When he moved his hands away, they were red and sticky with the child’s blood.  He could hear Morgana sending the agents on a wild goose chase; he had a horrid feeling that it might all come to nothing.

 

“The druid was only collecting supplies.  Likely as not he’d have left immediately.  Is it really necessary to punish him?”  Arthur looked at his father.  A druid man had been captured by agents only that morning, and Uther was already trying to interrogate him; he wanted the location of the boy who’d been with him.  The boy who’d been injured, and only just escaped with his life.  Arthur had been called back from his mission immediately, replaced by someone whose name he couldn’t remember (someone who wasn’t as good as him, obviously).

“Absolutely necessary,” Uther said decisively, “those who use magic are a danger to national security.  You know that as well as I, Arthur.”

“But the druids are a peaceful people.”

“Given the chance, they would force magic upon our country.  They preach peace but they conspire against us.  We cannot appear weak.”

Arthur looked away.  This was an old argument, repeated over and over with the same outcome every time.  He knew that Uther’s fear of a second Uprising, mixed with his grief for Arthur’s mother (and Arthur would be lying to say he did not share both of those feelings) prevented him from seeing the truth: “showing mercy can be a sign of strength.”  Surely the best way to prevent the sorcerers from rebelling was to ally with them, not push them to the shadows.

“Our enemies would not see it that way,” Uther looked at Arthur with thinly veiled annoyance; Arthur knew his father grew tired of his constant requests for mercy, seeing him as weak… he was walking a dangerous path, sounding almost like a sympathiser.  “We have a responsibility to the country.  Dealing with the druids will send a clear message.”  He looked sternly at Arthur, daring him to contradict him, “find the boy.  Search every inch of this city.”

“But-”

“And don’t even think of passing it off to incompetent subordinates, thinking I won’t notice.”

Arthur swallowed nervously, breath catching in his throat when confronted with his schemes.  He nodded tightly, “of course not, father.”

 

Morgana and Merlin were still in her office, watching over the boy.  Merlin watched out of the window, scanning the surroundings in a constant paranoid state whilst Morgana held the child in her arms, his head in her lap as she gently stroked his damp hair from his face.

“Morgana,” Merlin whispered.  She looked over and hissed quietly as she realised what was happening - he could see a druid being taken for interrogation ( _execution_ ), and obviously he was the boy’s father.  

The boy knew without seeing.

His anguished screams echoed in Merlin’s head and shattered Morgana’s drinking glass.

 

It was with great reluctance that Merlin was forced to leave Morgana’s office to do his job.  He’d thought for a while that he’d get away with it, but with Gaius _and_ Arthur requiring his services…

“Look after him, Morgana.”

“Of course,” she said quietly, fluffing the pillow Merlin had conjured to place under the boy’s head.

 

Arthur was stood outside the tech office when Merlin arrived, looking much aggrieved by something.  He looked up at the sound of Merlin’s footsteps, “my father has ordered me to find the boy.”

What?  Merlin gaped at him - sure, he was magic, but what harm could he possibly do at his age?  “He’s just a child!”

“I know, Merlin!”  Arthur snapped.  He pinched the bridge of his nose and regained control of his temper (he knew his anger was mostly born of nervous energy and would be better directed at Uther than Merlin), “I know.  Normally I’d give it to someone else, someone incompetent enough to let him get away…”

“What?”

Arthur looked around, “this can’t go any further,” he murmured, unsure as to whether he dare divulge his secret.  Merlin nodded and pulled him into a secluded, empty office, waiting for him to continue.  Arthur chewed his lip for a moment, “I’ve never been able to support my father in all that he has done.  The third mission he ever gave me… it was to kill a young druid girl - she was two years younger than me, and I was only 19 - and I…” he shook his head, “I had to do it.  I couldn’t disobey him.  After that there were raids on camps she was affiliated with.  I… I’ve tried to pass missions to people I know will fail.  Newbies.”

“But this time?”

“My father’s no fool.  He’s forbidden it.”

Merlin nodded, “well… we’ll find a way to fix it.”

Arthur sighed heavily and left, and Merlin stared after him.  Perhaps, one day (sooner than he’d ever dared hope) he could tell Arthur the truth.

 

He went straight to Gaius in the otherwise empty breakroom (they were a small department, made even smaller by Nimueh’s plague), “what do you know about the Druids?”  Merlin himself knew a little, from what Freya had told him, but a lot of it had faded with the years (and, if he was honest, a few - a lot - of her lessons had been interrupted with kissing, and that was what his memories tended to focus on…) and needed double checking.

“Very little.  They’re a secretive people.”  And no wonder; Uther was doing his utmost to have them declared a banned group without incurring the wrath of people crusading on behalf of religious freedom.  Gaius gave him a wary look, “Merlin…” he sighed, “please tell me you’ve not got yourself mixed up in this.”

“Me?” he tried his utmost to sound both innocent and affronted, “mixed up in what?”

“For someone with such a big secret you’re a terrible liar.”

Merlin grimaced, it was - annoyingly - true.  Still, he tried again, “no more than I have done by being Arthur’s handler.  I haven’t done anything.”   _Damn, too defensive._

“Merlin…”

“I heard him calling out,” he admitted, “I couldn’t see him but he was… in my mind.”

“Yes, I have heard of such gifts.  Druids often search out children with it to serve as apprentices.  Whilst they’re searching for him you must be careful, or it’ll be you on the chopping block.”

“I’m always careful,” Merlin grinned, “you know me.”

“Yes, Merlin,” Gaius said ruefully.  “Unfortunately I do.”

 

Arthur sighed at his desk, trawling through security footage as he searched for the druid boy.  So far he’d done the bare minimum to keep his father off his back, that is, publishing posters illustrated with grainy pictures of the boy’s face taken from the CCTV cameras.  With another sigh, he deleted another piece of footage - if Merlin was soft-hearted enough to help the boy, then it was Arthur’s job (though he was _not_ soft-hearted) to make sure it didn’t get him killed.  And speaking of…

“Is there any trace of  the boy?”

“No.”   _Maybe, but that was easily suppressed._

Merlin peeked at the screen and grinned brightly, though he tried to hide it.  Arthur shook his head and waved him away.  When he looked to see what had made his handler smile so widely (and that wasn’t so he knew what could bring such a smile out again so that he could see it and experience the fuzzy feeling it evoked) he grimaced at his mistake.  There, on the screen, was the clearest view so far of the idiot - his idiot - running hand in hand with the boy.  With a groan, he pressed delete.  The things he did for this fool…

 

“How is he?” Merlin asked as he came into Morgana’s office, looking nervously at the sleeping boy.

“Pale.  Too pale,” she bit her lip, “I worry about how much blood he might have lost.”

“Has he said anything?”  She shook her head.

“He’s not even told me his name.”

“You know,” Merlin admitted, “er, I… for a moment there earlier… I - I thought you were going to hand us over to the agents.”

“I’m glad you have so much faith in me,” she scoffed.

“No, no,” he said hastily, “sorry.  Er, it’s just that, well, I mean, your Uther’s daughter.  You’re taking a huge risk in helping the boy.”

“ _Adopted_ daughter,” she reminded him, “and besides, I adopted you, remember?  So I will always help you.  And I wouldn’t see an innocent child interrogated.  What harm has he done anyone?”

“Uther believes he has magic, and that is enough to make him guilty.”

“Uther’s wrong.  You and I both know that.”  Merlin nodded, but Morgana wasn’t done yet.  “What if magic isn’t something you choose?  What if it chooses you?  Why are you looking at me like that?”

How was he looking at her?  Oh - like he was amazed?  “Noth-  You’re right.”  

“What?”

“You’re right,” he said impulsively, “magic isn’t always a choice…”   

“You mean…?”  

“I was born with it.”   _You were born with it._  He looked at Mordred and changed the topic, “what should we do with him?  He can’t stay here.”

“We have to get him back to his people…”  

“I think…” he took a breath, wondering whether Morgana would agree to such a gamble as he was about to suggest.  “I think Arthur would help us if you let me ask him.”  

“No.  It’s too dangerous - Uther is his father, and he is loyal to him.”  

He nodded.  That was fair enough.  “Alright.”  It probably wouldn’t be fair to ask anyway.

 

The Pendragon meeting and lunch that afternoon was awkward, the conversation stilted to the point that Uther asked, “is something wrong, Morgana?  You seem troubled.”

“No, sir.  I’m sorry I’m not better company.”

“I’m merely concerned for your welfare, that’s all.”

“Thank you, sir.  All is well,” she lied easily.  Uther turned immediately to Arthur.

“What news have you of the druid boy?”  There was a sharpness to his gaze that dared Arthur to lie to him.

“We have conducted an extensive search, been through security footage…” and that _was_ true, even if Arthur had made sure that they would be fruitless.  “The boy is nowhere to be found.”

“You mean you failed to find him?”

“Perhaps he’s already left,” Arthur said hopefully.  Morgana looked at him, noticing his desire; had Merlin been right?  Was he on the druid boy’s side?

“You’re telling me that a wounded boy is able to evade the guards and escape?  Nonsense, someone’s hiding him.  I want him found.”

“He’s just a boy,” Arthur protested, “what harm can he do?”

“He is a druid, and that makes him dangerous.”

 

Arthur remembered years ago when Uther had said the same thing about a girl two years younger than him.  He’d listened to him then, obeyed orders like a yellow-bellied coward and killed her.  All he’d been able to do for her, to redeem himself, was take down her last words (“find… find-” _her words had been muffled, but it had sounded like Lynne_ , “tell… made me feel… loved…”) and give her a proper, druidic burial.  He still hadn’t found Lynne.  But this time… he wouldn’t make that mistake again.

“The druids,” Morgana reminded him with a glance to Uther, “seek to destroy all that Uther has worked for.”

“I had no idea you were such an expert on druids,” he said acidly.

“Morgana’s right,” Uther told him, “double your efforts.”

“Yes, father.”

“Keep searching until you’ve found him.”

 

 _To:_ _Merlin_

 _You’ve got to come_   
_and check on the boy._ _  
_ I think he’s sick.

 

 _To:_ _Morgana_

_I’ll be right there._

 

“He’s burning up,” Merlin gasped, snatching his hand away from the boy’s damp forehead.  “How long has he been like this?”

“About an hour,” Morgana whispered, looking at the clock, “I think the wound might be infected.  We have to get Gaius before it worsens.”

“No.  We can’t get Gaius involved; it’s too dangerous, and he’ll execute me himself if he finds out about this.”

“We need to get him out of Camelot,” she shot back, “and we can’t do that whilst he’s sick.”

Merlin hesitated, “I’ll treat him.”

“Merlin,” she said dubiously, “do you know how to treat an infected wound?”

He rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck.  She frowned at him.

 

They jumped around in horror as the door creaked open, too quick for them to hide the boy, too quick to think of an excuse.

 

“You’re hiding the boy?  Right under Uther’s nose?  Are you idiots?”  Arthur stared, dumbfounded, at his sister and his handler trying (badly) to hide the druid from sight.  With a sigh he shut the door, shaking his head as Merlin bit his lip and looked around nervously whilst Morgana wore the look she’d often sported when they were children - her _I’m trying to work out how to get out of trouble and it’s not going well_ look.

“I won’t let you tell Uther,” she said finally, glaring at him.  He rolled his eyes at her lack of faith.

“I’m not going to.”

“Will you help us?”

“What?” Arthur yelped at the same time as Morgana snapped,

“ _Merlin_!”

“We’re sneaking him back to his people,” he went on regardless, ignoring astounded/angered/stunned looks, “will you help?”

“I…”   _I want to, but…_

“I know you don’t want him to die,” Merlin insisted.  “That’s not the sort of man you are.  This is how you make sure he doesn’t.”

Arthur swore inwardly.  Damn Merlin and his faith and his logic.  “But this isn’t like passing on cases,” he protested (he had to at least _appear_ reluctant), disregarding Morgana’s quizzical look, “this is actively committing treason!”  Merlin deflated, looking down disappointedly, and Arthur cursed again.  “Fine.”  And he wasn’t close to grinning because Merlin was beaming at him, “but he needs treatment.”

Morgana shot her more troublesome colleague (for clarification, at the moment that referred to Merlin) a _told you so_ look, “we’ll take him to Gaius.”

Merlin made a motion of washing his hands of the decision.  Even though it was him who’d be burnt at the proverbial (or not) stake when Gaius heard what they were up to.  But it _was_ probably better than him trying to treat the boy himself.

 

_Thank you, Emrys.  For convincing him._

_Emrys?_ Merlin thought back at him, _but… that’s just a nickname.  That’s just Mr Kilgharrah’s nickname for me.  How do you know it?_

_Amongst my people, that is your name._

_What do you mean?_ Freya had never mentioned it.  Mordred didn’t answer, so he moved on.   _You know who I am_ , Merlin hid his amazement completely, _how?_

There was still silence.  “Talk to me,” he said finally, frustrated.

“I don’t know if he can’t,” Morgana told Arthur, “or if he’s just too scared.”

Merlin sent Arthur and Morgana ahead of him, “I need to make a phone call.”  Of course he did; he needed to find out the real reason Kilgharrah called him Emrys.  He needed to know why the druids knew who he was (and why Freya had never told him that).

Mr Kilgharrah, as always, picked up immediately (Merlin sometimes wondered if he knew when he was going to ring), “the young warlock,” he greeted, “no doubt you want to talk about the druid boy.”

“How did you know?”  Of course he knew.

“Like you, I hear him speak.”

“He calls me Emrys, too,” he said, getting straight to the point.  “Why do you call me Emrys?”

“Because it’s your name.”

He frowned, even though he couldn’t be seen, “I’m fairly sure my name’s Merlin.  Always has been.”

“You have many names,” his neighbour laughed.

“Do I?  How does the boy know who I am?  I’ve only met one druid, and she wasn’t even living with them then.”

“There is much written about you that you have yet to read.”  Kilgharrah’s voiced turned as cool and hard as stone, “you should not protect this boy.”

“Why not?  He has magic.  He’s just like me.”  He was like Merlin as a boy, afraid and hunted by those he’d never hurt nor sought to hurt.

“You and the boy are as different as day and night.”

“What do you mean?”

“Heed my words, Emrys.”

“Why should I not protect him?” he asked, getting frustrated now.  Especially when there was nothing but silence on the other end of the line, “I need to know why I shouldn’t protect the boy.”

“You seek my counsel and yet you choose to ignore it.”

“Just tell me why,” he huffed.

“If the boy lives,” Kilgharrah said gravely, “you cannot fulfil your destiny.”

“What’s he got to do with my destiny?”  He was just a child.  Just a little boy.  “You said it’s my destiny to protect Arthur.”

“Then you have the answer you seek.”

“You’re telling me that little boy is going to kill Arthur?”  Impossible.  Impossible.  (Wasn’t it?)

“It seems that’s up to you.”

“No. You can’t know that for certain.”  Could he?

“I have seen it before, Emrys.  You have it in your power to prevent a great evil.”   Yeah, the murder of a child.

“There must be another way!  The future isn’t set in stone!”

“You must let the boy die.”

Merlin hung up and rested his head against the wall.  This was insane, it was wrong, it was… it was…  It was sickening that he was considering the idea.  Shoving the thoughts roughly from his mind - what if the boy heard? - he went on to the medical room.

 

“Merlin Myrddin!”

“I can explain!” Merlin squeaked as he came face to face with the furious Gaius.  He flashed a glare to the amused looking Pendragon siblings; yes, he was an adult (technically) but Gaius was _scary_ .  And _they’d_ never had to live with him raising the disapproving eyebrow near-permanently (it wasn’t pleasant).

“You promised me you wouldn’t get involved!”

He remembered doing no such thing but, in the face of such anger, he knew better than to dispute it.  “I know.  I’m sorry.”  He shrugged, “I had no choice.”

“Every agent in Camelot is searching for this boy and you’ve been harbouring him under their very noses!  What were you thinking of?”

Merlin winced but remained firm, “was I supposed to hand him over to the guards to be executed?”

“Sorcerers aren’t executed, Merlin,” Arthur cut in, “this isn’t the Middle Ages.  We arrest them, place them in cells, and interrogate them to ensure that they aren’t a risk.  They’re only executed if they are a risk.”

He scoffed, “have you ever met a survivor of interrogation?”

Arthur didn’t answer because there was only one answer to give.  No.  No one ever survived Camelot’s interrogations.  They were the closest Britain had to an outright death sentence.

“You think you can save him?” Gaius boomed, an edge of fear creeping into his voice, “what happens if you’re caught?  Who will save you?”

His nephew leant in and whispered so that no one could overhear his words, “you’re saying it’s wrong to harbour a young magician?”

“The difference is,” Gaius hissed back, “that your magic is still secret, though it’s a wonder considering how careless you are.”

“The boy’s sick,” Merlin announced at his regular volume, “are you going to help or not?  Because I certainly can’t treat him.”

“So now you want me to risk my neck, too?”  Gaius sounded outraged, and this was why Merlin hadn’t wanted to involve him.  He was too cautious.  “I wish the boy no harm but it’s too dangerous.”

Merlin wondered briefly why neither of the Pendragon’s - who were both trained in negotiation - weren’t stepping in to help.  Maybe they thought he was better to deal with his uncle.  “If you don’t,” he said, going for the low blow, “we may as well give him to the guards because he’ll die anyway.  Please… don’t turn your back on him.”   _You never turned your back on me._

Gaius sighed heavily but walked over to where the boy lay on a medical bed.

 

Arthur and Morgana stepped into the hall whilst Gaius examined his patient, leaving Merlin to ask his advice (if he wasn’t too angry to give it).

“I spoke to Mr Kilgharrah.”  The physician’s huff was not promising.  “He… he wants me to do something really bad, really, really bad, because if I don’t… he said that something… something unthinkable will happen.  What do I do?”

“It sounds like you’ve already made up his mind.”

But that was the problem.  He really hadn’t.  He had never been so unsure in his life.

“Merlin!” Morgana shouted, “we need your help here.”

The warlock looked over his shoulder and then back at the boy.  “I…” he groaned, “I’m about to do something stupid, Gaius.”

“Stupider than hiding a druid in Camelot?”

He nodded glumly, “I’m going to ignore Mr Kilgharrah.”

 

The plan was this:

  * Morgana distracts Uther with dinner (Arthur is excused by virtue of searching for the druid boy).



_“Father?”_

_Uther looked over to his adopted daughter, surprised at being addressed in such a… sentimental manner.  “Yes, Morgana?”  He smiled suddenly, “what is it you’ve come to request.”_

_She gave a bashful smile, a small shrug, as if she was embarrassed at being caught out.  “I was wondering if you might care to have dinner with me.  It seems so long since we’ve had a night without politics and business hanging over our heads…”_

_He looked at her indulgently, “of course.  It’ll do us both good to forget our worries for a while.”_

  * Arthur and Merlin carry the boy to the border of London.



_“Damn it, Merlin, keep him steady!  You’ll give him bloody motion sickness!”_

_“Shh,” he said insistently, “and anyway, it’s not_ me _.  You keep changing the height.”  He yelped when the movement nearly caused him to drop the boy, “Oh for god’s-  Just let me take him.”_

_Evading the patrols was easy enough; Arthur knew their routes off by heart.  And the boy was concealed in a thick blanket and his druidic cape, so in the dark it looked as if Merlin was struggling beneath the weight of a particularly oddly shaped sack, rather than a dozing child._

_Still, it was with no small amount of relief that they reached the border without being seen.  Merlin handed the boy over gently, noting the bright blue of his wide, innocent eyes as he woke._

_Goodbye, Emrys.  I know we will meet again._

  * Merlin returns to Camelot so he can offer an alibi if needs be (“a good one, Merlin.  Not one of your normal bumbling affairs.”  Arthur rolled his eyes at the light hit his handler gave him).



_Merlin hurried back to Camelot, Arthur’s advice lodged firmly in his head._

_“If my father asks where I am,” he’d said, “I’m searching for the boy.  But try and make yourself scarce for the next few days.  For some reason,” Arthur shot him a look here, one that (rudely) suggested that his father had a very good reason, “he doesn’t like you.  If he realises the boy is gone for good he might try and execute in his place.”_

_He worked hard to not show how much he was really afraid of that._

  * Arthur goes on alone to where the druid camp is (the edge of the woods, Gaius said).



_“We are forever indebted to you,” a druid told Arthur.  (And that was a sentence he never thought he’d hear a sorcerer say to him.  Not after all he’d done to them.)   “For bringing the boy back, Arthur Pendragon, we can never thank you enough.”_

_“It must not be known that it was I who brought him here,” he reminded them anxiously._

_“We will tell no one.  You have my word.”_

_They turned to leave._

_“Wait!” Arthur heard himself saying.  He looked at the boy, “we don’t even know your name!  At least tell me your name.”_

_The man nodded to the boy, “it’s alright.”  And then he spoke for - apparently - the first time since he’d been hurt._

_“My name is Mordred.”_

_Arthur nodded, “good luck, Mordred.”_

_For as long as Uther raged against magic, he was going to need it._

 

“It was a brave thing you did, Arthur,” Merlin told him a few days after the boy’s - Mordred’s - escape.

“Was it?” Arthur looked dubious, “what’s one boy compared to all the other interrogations and executions I’ve stood by and watched?”

“Well…” he averted his gaze to the ground.

“What?”

“Perhaps you could…” Merlin chanced a quick look to Arthur, “help a few more go missing?”

“What?” he said again, though he sounded rather more outraged this time.

“Nothing huge!” he hurried to insist.  “But maybe if you’re assigned a sorcerer with no crimes… I can fiddle with files, have them listed as dead while you…”

“Smuggle them out of the country?”  Arthur a barked a laugh, waiting for his handler to join in.  His chuckles faded as Merlin remained silent, “you were being serious?”  His handler nodded hopefully and he sighed.  “We’ll see, Merlin.”


	8. Chapter 7 - Operation Excalibur

**** Merlin watched Arthur with a small smile.  He was stood beside his father, a solemn expression on both their faces.  Today was the day that Arthur would be officially sworn in as heir to the head of Camelot, in front of all those who worked there (plus Merlin was fairly sure he’d spotted the prime minister hanging around somewhere, but they might have left already - security for prime minister visits was always a nightmare).

“Do you solemnly swear to protect the people of this country and its dominions according to the statutes, customs and laws laid down by your forebears?” Uther asked, looking down proudly at his son.

“I do, sir.”

“Do you promise to exercise mercy and justice in your deeds and judgments?”  

“I do, sir.”  

“And do you swear allegiance to Britain and Camelot, now and for as long as you shall live?”  

“I, Arthur Pendragon, do pledge life and limb to your service and to the protection of the country and its peoples.”  

“Then, being of age and having proven yourself loyal, you are henceforth named as successor to the head of Camelot.”

Arthur rose from the floor, grinning as he faced the applauding crowd.  He caught Merlin’s eye amongst the swarm of people and flashed him a smile, raising an eyebrow at his enthusiastic clapping - he wasn’t entirely sure what his handler mouthed at him, but it was most likely  _ Prat _ .

Following the ceremony was a party, with food and music and all other party things in the training hall (all weapons had been banished to offices for the moment).  Gwen and Merlin lingered near the drinks table, leaning against the wall and watching the rivalries.  Lancelot was sure to appear soon, once he’d finished congratulating Arthur.

“So,” Gwen began, smirking at Merlin, “how does it feel to be handler to the next head of Camelot?”

“Preparing his equipment will be even more of an honour than before,” Merlin said sarcastically, sipping from his glass; Gaius had limited him to one drink on pain of working with a hangover, so he was going to make it last.  Gwen was rolling her eyes at him.

“You’re proud of him really, even though you complain about him constantly.”

Damn Gwen and her perception.  “You’ve said that before and I repeat,  _ I am not _ !”

“You are.  I can see it in your face.”

Was he really so obvious?  “His equipment is always perfectly prepared; of course I’m proud!”

Gwen laughed and Merlin joined in, smiling broadly at Lancelot as he walked over - Gwen hit him upside the head when he faked gagging at their lovey-dovey kissing on the cheek, but she was still smiling, so it was ok.

Her smile faded far too soon, dropping in tandem with the doors to the hall bursting open, revealing a man clad all in black with a covering over his face, a pin on his breast... some kind of crest, and a sword at his hip.  (Merlin didn’t bother to question the sword; after everything he’d seen in this job it barely rated on his Strange-o-Meter.)  Clearly he’d disarmed the guards outside (unlucky sods who had to miss the party).  The agents all drew their guns, making sure the man was aware he was one false move away from decorating the floor with his blood.

“What in the devil’s name?” Uther gaped, staring in outrage at the man.

“I offer a challenge,” the man said flatly.  Merlin resisted groaning as Arthur looked as if he was about to accept.  He tried not to be too thrilled as another man beat him to it.

“I, Agent Owain, accept your challenge.”

“Single combat.  Swords.  Noon tomorrow.  To the death.”

The stranger left, leaving the party to tidy up; they could hardly carry on.

Merlin had been banned from cooking early into his stay with Gaius, whilst he was still in college (which was, quite frankly, ridiculous.  He’d only set the kitchen curtains a little bit on fire, and his magic had taken care of it very quickly), but that didn’t prevent him from hovering at the threshold of the staff kitchen to pester him with questions as he stirred the pot on the stove.

“Have you ever seen that man before?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Why did he pick swords?” he paused, “why do they even train with swords anymore?”

“Tradition.”

“Oh.  Did you see that pin he wore?”

“Pin?”

“Some sort of crest, like you used to get on shields,” Merlin waited for understanding to settle over Gaius’ face before he asked, “what house was it?”

“I’m not sure.  I didn’t see it clearly.”

“But he’s not someone you’d forget in a hurry, is he?”  He certainly didn’t think so.  There was something about his demeanour, his cold voice as he issued his challenge, that set Merlin on edge.  He was already working on strategies to prevent Arthur being left alone with him (and no, he was not above following Arthur covertly to make sure of it).

“No,” Gaius said shortly.

“So he’s not from around here?”

“That seems likely.”

“Then what’s he doing here?”

Gaius placed the spoon on the counter, turning to face him, “Merlin, your faith in my all-seeing knowledge is both touching and wholly misplaced.  Maybe if you’ve finished your work, you could go find something else to do and leave me to finish mine.”

“Alright,” he held up his hands in surrender, “I’m going.”  He waited a moment before getting to the question he’d really wanted to ask, “Gaius?”

“Yes, Merlin?”

“Do you think Owain can beat him?”

Gaius sighed, “we’ll find out soon enough.”

Arthur drummed his fingers on Morgana’s desk, not at all comforted by Morgana’s presence, nor by Gwen’s quiet humming as she bustled around the office doing odd jobs.

“He shouldn’t have taken the challenge,” he said darkly.

“Then put a stop to it!”

“It can’t be stopped,” he told Morgana irritably, picking up one of her pens to fiddle with.  She took it swiftly from his grasp.

“Then fight in his place.”

“I can’t.”  He would if he could.

“Why not?”

He grimaced, “Owain accepted the challenge, Owain must fight.”  He shook his head, “he knew that.”

“But it’s a fight to the death!” Gwen burst out suddenly.  She flushed as the Pendragon siblings’ eyes fell on her, returning to her job with a quiet, “sorry.”

Arthur shook his head again - she had as much a right to express her distaste as anyone - and sighed, “I know.”

Camelot’s library was a large place, filled with ridiculously old books (some said that they dated back to the days of medieval kings and queens) and closed to the public.  Even those who worked in the agency were constantly monitored if they chose to enter, kept closely under the eye of Geoffrey, the ancient librarian.  He was as devoted to the rules as he was to the protection of his books, and woe betide you if you even  _ looked _ like you might do something to harm them.  Many - or perhaps it was just poor, clumsy Merlin with a habit of tripping near shelves of expensive books - were slightly afraid to enter, but Gaius Myrddin had no such fear.  He and Geoffrey were old friends (they’d started around the same time) and it was with great relief that the librarian greeted him.

“Gaius, thank god.”

“You know why I’m here?”  It was hardly a question worth asking.

“The Black Knight.”

Gaius sucked in a nervous breath, “so it is he?”

“You saw his crest.”  It wasn’t a question.

He thought slightly guiltily of the lie he told his nephew, “have you confirmed it?”

Geoffrey nodded, “it is the crest of Tristan Dubois.”

“And he is the only agent to ever use such a crest.”

“According to the records, yes.  Not even his sister used it.”

Uther sat at his desk, poring over piles of paperwork his agents had put in for his consideration.  He gritted his teeth when he noticed who’s was missing most often - of course it was his son’s - and made a note to talk to him about it.  Or at least tell his handler to remind him.  The door began to creak open and he grabbed his gun, flicking off the safety.  It opened to reveal Gaius and he put the gun away.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir,” Gaius said, walking over.  Uther placed his work down.

“What is it?”

“The stranger.  He bears the crest of the Black Knight.  Of Tristan Dubois.”

“Yes.”

“But he’s been dead twenty years.”

“I know,” Uther said quietly, “I killed him.”

“Then how do you explain-?”

“Dead men do not return,” Uther said sternly, an air of finality in his tone.  The Black Knight was dead, and that was it.

The day of the fight dawned with a cold light, chasing Merlin out of bed with the chill.  He felt slightly sick as he journeyed to work that day, and it didn’t fade as he gave the equipment a final check - the armour was fine, but the sword could use some sharpening.  It was a difficult job, and he grazed his knuckles on the whetstone as often as he managed to sharpen the blade.

“You’ve never fought in mortal combat before,” he heard Arthur tell Owain, “it’s not like the training I’ve been giving you.”

“Yeah, I know,” came the blithe reply.

“Listen to me.  The problem is, we’ve never seen him fight.  You have to get the measure of him quickly.”

“But I have the same advantage - he’s never seen me fight, either.”

Arthur managed a weak smile, “true.”

“You’ve seen me.”

“Yes.”

“And?”

He paused, considering his words, “and I know there’s no one braver.  Remember, all it takes to kill a man is one well-aimed blow.”

Owain nodded, seeming to have sobered slightly through the course of his conversation.  Gwen entered and Merlin let out a small hiss, having taken the skin off his knuckles in a moment of distraction.  She held out a small silk handkerchief, “Morgana asked me to give you a token, seeing how you’re fighting the old-fashioned way.  For luck.”  Owain took it with a smile, his confidence seeming to swell back to its previous level, “tell her thank you, and that I’ll wear it with pride.  But I won’t need luck.”

Merlin handed him the sword and watched them leave for the fight.  A pit of dread was deepening in his stomach; he tried to ignore it, starting to follow behind them.

He managed it to the doorway before his steps faltered.  He swayed and pressed a steadying hand on the wall, something like a memory filling his vision.  Gasping for air, he narrowly avoided his knees buckling and stared in anguish at Owain in the distance.  “We’ve done this before...” he whispered to himself, not quite sure where the knowledge came from, yet still certain of its truth.

_ Owain lay dead on the ground, his mail pierced by the stranger’s sharp blade. _

Merlin left to watch, praying to any deity that might exist to listen that he’d got it wrong, that Owain might live to fight another day.

“Now remember,” Arthur patted Owain on the shoulder, his voice tight, “find the flow of the fight, try to control it.”

His agent nodded and entered the arena, leaving Arthur to begin the fight.  Merlin ran to the sidelines not long after it began, frightening everyone with his pallid face tinged with green.  Gwen was shouting encouragements beside him, as was Arthur, and then (thankfully, blessedly) Owain landed a blow, his blade sliding into the flesh of his stomach.  Merlin cheered along with everyone, some of his nausea fading as the blade was tugged out.

But the man did not fall.

The crowd gasped in horror as Owain was cut down, a single slice swiftly ending his life.  Morgana’s favour fluttered to the floor, a patch of white stained red lying crumpled on the ground.  The stranger barely spared his victim a glance, looking upon the crowd.  Merlin couldn’t tell what expression was on his covered face, but he saw the quiet triumph in his straight back, his puffed out chest.

“Who will take my challenge?” he asked the crowd.

Merlin watched Arthur as he tried to bolt over, to take the challenge and fight then and there, only to be held back by his father.  But there was no one to hold back the others.

“I, Agent Pellinor, take up the challenge.”

And Merlin knew he was looking upon a dead man walking.

He walked over to Gaius, still pale and shivering after the sights he’d seen (and Seen), and asked him, “are you going to treat his wound?”  Some cruel part of him hoped Gaius said no, leaving the man to bleed and fester.

“Wound?” Gaius said confusedly, looking from Owain was being carried away to Merlin, “Owain didn’t land a blow.”

“He did,” Merlin protested, “my eyes are quicker than yours and I saw it.  He should be dead right now.”

A chill like ice ran down his spine as Gaius replied, “perhaps he already is.”

“Why did you stop me?” Arthur roared, his eyes blazing as he glared at his father.  He’d barely been able to control his rage long enough to reach Uther’s office, and now it was pouring out like lava, an inferno staining his cheeks a dark red.

“We have to give our agents a chance to prove themselves,” Uther replied innocently as if he wasn’t lying.  Why was he lying?

“Have you seen how this stranger fights?”

“And Agent Pellinor is more than a match for him.”

Arthur hissed out a breath; perhaps in top condition, Pellinor could beat him, but not now.  “He’s not recovered from the wounds he took in Operation Othanden!”

“I can’t help that.”

Uther did not flinch as his son leant forward over his papers on the desk, his blue eyes flashing with anger as they met his, “so you send him to his death?”

“It was his choice to take up the challenge.  I am not to blame!”

His son stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him, and Uther knew that neither of them truly believed that.

Gaius, Merlin reflected, was a man of many sides.  There were the sides he showed at home; lecturing him like a father might when he let his room get too messy, sitting at the kitchen table to help him revise or fill out applications, or making terrible jokes whilst he fussed over whatever was cooking.  And there was the side for work, nice and responsible, doing all his work in a timely and efficient manner, with time to spare for whatever extra project Uther wanted.

And then there was this side.  The side that suggested breaking into a crypt at the graveyard.

Merlin had no idea why he was going along with it.

“Are you sure we should be doing this?” he asked, failing to hide the tremor in his voice.

“Are you scared?”

“No, of course not,” he bluffed, forcing his voice to act naturally.  “I love old crypts.  Wouldn’t be seen dead anywhere else.”

They walked through the door and it slammed closed behind them (and Merlin definitely didn’t jump).

“Must have been a gust of wind,” Gaius said reassuringly (not that Merlin needed reassuring), “did we bring a torch?”

Merlin swiped a piece of wood from the ground, “leotbora.”  A pleasant gold flame licked the top of it, generating a comforting, flickering light in the passage.

“Huh.  Handy.”

“Yep.”  He waited to see that his spell wasn’t about to wear off - it never had before, but it didn’t hurt to check - before asking, “what are we even looking for anywhere?”

“Bring your torch over here.”

His eyes widened slightly, “we’re actually breaking into someone's coffin?”

Gaius shook his head, “we’re too late for that.  Someone’s already broken out.”

And wasn’t  _ that  _ comforting.

“Here,” Gaius said later, placing a file in front of Merlin’s cup of hot chocolate - he’d earned it after that.  He picked it up and gave it a once-over.

_ Tristan Dubois _

_ Codename:  The Black Knight _

_ Relations:  Ygraine Pendragon, nee Dubois _

_ Status:  Deceased _

“Tristan was Ygraine’s brother,” Gaius clarified.

“Arthur’s mother?”

He nodded, “after Ygraine’s death he blamed Uther.  He came in and challenged him.”

“To single combat.”

“Uther won,” Gaius said, stating the obvious, “but in his dying breath, Tristan cursed Camelot to one day suffer his return.  I thought it was just the ramblings of a dying man.”

“People don’t just come back from the dead though, no matter how angry they are,” Merlin protested.  At least he hoped they didn’t - he’d look pretty stupid dying in a zombie apocalypse after insisting to his high school friends that such a thing was completely and totally impossible.

Gaius flicked through a book he’d brought with the file - he was always prepared - pointing a finger on the paragraph he wanted Merlin to peek at, “it’s my guess we’re dealing with a wraith.”

“A wraith?”

“The spirit of a dead man conjured from the grave.”

Merlin grimace; lovely.  “So this is the work of a sorcerer?”

“Powerful magic can harness the grief and wrath of a tormented spirit and make it live again.”

Wonderful.  Really marvellous.

“So how do we defeat it?”

“We can’t.”  Merlin looked wide-eyed at Gaius as he continued, “because it’s not alive, no mortal blade can kill it.”

He wasn’t one for swearing, especially not in front of Gaius, but he came very close.  “Surely there must be something,” he said desperately.

“Nothing can stop him until he gets what he came for.”

“Which is?”

“Revenge.”

Things did not look great for Agent Pellinor.

The crowd groaned as Agent Pellinor was run through, turning away as his blood ran freely over the ground, his glassy eyes staring unseeingly upwards.  Arthur was over the boundary in an instant, evading the grip of his father and the distressed eyes of his handler begging him not to, looking straight into the covered face of Tristan Dubois.

“I, Arthur Pendragon, challenge you.”

“So be it,” he spat.

“Single combat.  Swords.  Noon.  Tomorrow.”

This time it was Uther’s turn to rage in his office, pacing the length of it as he yelled.

“How could you be so stupid?  I’ll revoke the challenge.”

“No.  The fights must go through,” Arthur stared straight at his father, “that’s what you told me.”

“This is different.”  This was his son and, more importantly, the future head of Camelot.

“Once the challenge has been laid down it cannot be rescinded.”

“You are the future head,” Uther growled.

“There can’t be one rule for me and one for everyone else,” Arthur protested, refusing to be a hypocrite.  Whatever he was, whatever else he might have to do in his life, he would not betray his men.

“I forbid you to fight.”

“You want me to prove I am worthy of the position.  Let me do this by showing I’m not a coward.”

“No, Arthur, this will be your death!”

Arthur swallowed, “I’m sorry you have so little faith in me, father.”  He marched out, deaf to the call of his name.

Merlin leaned on his desk, chewing on his lip and ceasing only when the coppery tang of blood filled his dry mouth; “you were right.”

“I wish I wasn’t,” Gaius sighed, sitting heavily on an empty chair.  The office of their small department was empty - Gaius had given them the rest of the day off to recover from watching the death of Pellinor, and it was late enough that only the severely overworked and guards remained.

“If Arthur fights he’ll die.”  That wasn’t a pleasant thought; it sent something flipping uncomfortably in Merlin’s stomach, twisting till he felt sick.

“He is Camelot’s greatest agent,” Gaius said dully, as if it made a difference, “if anyone can defeat it, he can.”

“You said it yourself.  No mortal weapon can kill it.”  He paused, biting again at his lip and wincing as his teeth grazed over his previous cut, “which means we have to find a way to kill the wraith ourselves.”

“How do you propose to do that?”

“If no mortal sword can kill it… then I will.”  He wracked his brain for the spell, his eyes lighting up in triumph as he remembered it, “With mortal magic.”

“Merlin, it’s too dangerous,” Gaius insisted.  Merlin’s chest felt warm at the protectiveness (it was like having a parent with him, and it felt like ages since he’d seen his mum) but steeled himself against it.

“We have no choice.”

The Black Knight stood motionless outside the compound as Merlin looked at him, trying to prepare himself for what was, technically, going to make him into a cold-blooded killer (he tried to ignore that fact).  Gaius slipped quietly out of the door.

“Good evening, sir.”

“Gaius.”  Uther stood with his back to him, eyes focussed on the darkening sky above Camelot.

“There is a matter of great urgency which I must discuss with you.”

_ Merlin heaved in a breath, holding out a shivering hand. _

“Then spit it out.”

“Tristan’s tomb is empty,” Gaius said quietly, “I believe he’s been conjured from the dead.”

“How is this possible?” Uther growled.  That accursed man had brought him nothing but grief - he’d thought he was rid of him.

“I believe he’s a wraith.”

“A spirit?”

“He has come to take vengeance for Ygraine’s death,” Gaius said gently, wary as Uther’s fist clenched.

“It was magic that killed her, not I.”

_ “Cume her fyrbryne,” Merlin whispered, watching as orange flames engulfed Tristan. _

“Nevertheless, it was you he blamed.  You cannot allow Arthur to fight.  No weapon forged by man can kill a wraith.”

_ Merlin’s fire faded.  Tristan Dubois still stood. _

“It will stop at nothing till it has accomplished what it came for,” Gaius continued.  “Arthur cannot win.  He will die.”

“He will not listen to me,” Uther said mournfully, missing the days when Arthur was young, still willing to do as he was told.

“Then you must tell him who he is.”

Uther’s eyes flashed as he turned to Gaius, “no.”

_ Merlin’s heart leapt to his throat as Tristan turned to look at him. _

“You cannot hide the truth forever,” Gaius insisted, unheeding of the scowl on Uther’s face.

“I am the head.  You will not tell me what I can and cannot do.”

_ His eyes widened fearfully as the Black Knight’s growl reached his ears. _

“That is your choice, sir.  You tell him, or let him go to his death.”

“No one but you or I will ever know the secret of Arthur’s birth,” Uther snarled, looking at Gaius with such ferocity he had to try hard to resist taking a step back.

“He is of age, he should know.”

“Never!  You made an oath.”  He glared at Gaius, the hint of a threat lingering in his voice, “I warn you not to break it.”

“Very well, sir.”

“Leave me,” Uther commanded, turning back to the window.

_ Merlin ran. _

“Merlin,” Arthur sighed as his handler burst into his office, “remember that conversation we had about knocking?”

It was several conversations, actually, because Merlin had a terrible habit of wandering in when he was bored, or slamming his door open with enough force to make it shake when he was in a hurry (god knows where the strength for that was hiding; you certainly couldn’t see it in his weedy arms, nor his stick-thin figure.  Not that he’d been looking.  And not that it’d mean anything if he had).

“You have to pull out,” Merlin said in place of greeting, his face bleached white by anxiety and his chest heaving from running.

“And why is that?” Arthur asked, annoyed.

“Because he’ll kill you,” Merlin said simply.

“Why does everyone think that?” Arthur said angrily, gritting his teeth.

“Because they’re right!” he said, exasperatedly, “just pull out.  You’re the next head.  No one wants to see you die over some stupid challenge.”  He refused to watch his friend die because of some stupid challenge.

“I’m not a coward,” Arthur said quietly.

“I know that,” Merlin said, “I’ve stood there and I’ve watched you overcome every fear you’ve ever faced.”

“That’s what’s required of me.”

Merlin longed to reach out to his friend but he resisted, sticking to words instead, “but you’re more than that.  You’re not just an agent, you’re the future head.  You’ve proved your courage, now you must prove your wisdom.”

“I’m not backing down,” Arthur insisted, refusing to catch Merlin’s slightly panicked eyes.

Merlin groaned inwardly at Arthur’s stubbornness.  When he spoke again his voice was something dangerously close to worry, to begging, “please, Arthur, just listen to me.”  He motioned vaguely towards the window where Tristan could be seen, a small speck of black blending into the night, “this is no ordinary man.  Look at him,” he took a breath, “he doesn’t eat, he doesn’t sleep.  He just stands there, in complete silence.  Doesn’t that tell you something?”

“No one is unbeatable,” Arthur insisted.

“If you fight him, you will die.”

“I’m not listening to this,” Arthur snapped, turning away.

Merlin frowned, a lump in his throat, “I’m trying to warn you, Arthur,” he said quietly, “as you’re handler, as your friend, please-”

“I’m warning  _ you _ , Merlin!” Arthur growled, turning to storm out.  Merlin watched him leave silently, realising he had no hope of convincing him with his pride wounded as it was.

What was he going to do?

Uther swirled the whiskey in his glass.  He didn’t make a habit of drinking alone, especially not at work, but today he believed he deserved it.  The lights flickered and died; he laughed without humour.

“I should have known.”

Nimueh stood behind him, her ragged red dress flowing as she walked towards him, a smirk on her face, “it’s more than I could have hoped for, Uther.  Soon Arthur will be slain.”  Her smirk widened, “you will have sent him to his death.”

“Haven’t you tired of revenge?” he asked wearily.  He had tired of Nimueh’s revenge a long time before, before it had threatened to snatch his only son roughly from his arms.

“Haven’t you?”  Nimueh asked, not waiting for his answer, “you started this war when you tossed me aside, when you crushed the Uprising with such brutality, when you slaughtered my kind.”

“You brought it on yourselves,” he said sternly, “you practised evil.”

“I was your friend, Uther!” she cried, “you welcomed me here!”

“You betrayed that friendship.”

“I did as you asked!  I used the magic you so despise to give your barren wife the son you craved.”

“Don’t speak of her in that way,” he hissed, “she was my heart, my soul.  And you took her from me.”

Nimueh shook her head, brown curls floating around her face, “she died giving birth.  It was not my choice.  That is the law of magic; to create a life, one must be taken in return.  The balance of the world had to be repaid.”

“You knew it would kill her.”

The accusation rankled; though Uther might have forgotten, might deny it, Nimueh had been their friend.  She too had loved Ygraine.  They had been like sisters, planning missions together, celebrating gleefully after the spell had worked, chattering excitedly about all they planned to do once the baby was born.  “No,” she said finally, “you’re wrong.  If I’d foreseen her death and the terrible retribution you would seek… I would never have granted your wish.”

“I wish you hadn’t.”

“You wish you didn’t have a son?”  Nimueh chuckled mirthlessly, “well, your wish will come true tomorrow.”

“I will not let you take him.”

“I have watched so many people I love die at your hands, Uther Pendragon.  Now it’s your turn.”

Merlin sat at the library table, flicking through heavy, dusty tomes, blinking as it irritated his eyes.  He was unbelievably glad that Geoffrey wasn’t there - his glare had nearly the same intimidation ability as Gaius’ eyebrow of doom.

“How did you get in here?”

He apparently spoke too soon.  “The door was open,” he said, keeping his tired eyes fixed on the too-small text.”

“No, I locked it.”

“Well, someone else must’ve opened it then.”

“And you thought you’d come in and help yourself?”

It  _ was _ a library for the use of all, and it  _ was _ an emergency, but he decided not to say that.  “I was looking for a book.  Gaius thinks the challenger is a wraith.”

“Then Arthur is in grave peril.”

Merlin nodded glumly, “that’s why I’m here.  I need to find a weapon that can kill what’s already dead.”

“Well,” Geoffrey said thoughtfully, “I’ve read of such things in the ancient chronicles.”

“Really?” his heart leapt gleefully, “what did they say?”

“Well, several fables speak of ancient swords.”

“That can kill the dead?” he asked hopefully.

“The swords the fables speak of could destroy anything, alive or dead.”

Merlin felt hope start fizzing away, “can you show me one of those fables?”

“Well, let me think…”

Geoffrey started a slow search through the shelves, “yes.  Mmm…”

“I’m sort of in a hurry,” Merlin said restlessly.

“Yes, you young people always are.”

Merlin pulled a face behind his back as Geoffrey took a heavy looking book from a high shelf.  He placed it on the table, flipping through the pages.  He pointed to a chapter, “this is the Chronicle of Beltaine.  An ancient tale.  Now then…  Ah, here we are.   _ ‘Sir Marhaus looked upon the great sword, begotten in the dragon’s breath and found it passing good’. _ ”

“What did you say?”

“ _ ‘Sir Marhaus-’ _ ”

“No, not that part,” Merlin said hurriedly, “not about him.  The dragon.”  He wasn’t sure why, but something… something in his head was telling him it was important.

“ _ ‘...the great sword begotten in the dragon’s breath,’ _ ”

Merlin took off, his thoughts focussing to a point on one name - Kilgharrah - as Geoffrey watched him go.

“ _ ‘...and found it passing good.’ _ ”

“I don’t want you to fight tomorrow,” Morgana told Arthur.  She’d found him pacing the corridors, his hand ghosting over the gun in his holster, eyes twitching towards his opponent, as he considered the constant requests for him to give in.  She’d seen Merlin leaving the room, dejected, and guessed that he’d been unable to get through.  Perhaps, if she was lucky, it was a sister who could succeed.

Arthur snorted, “you’re worried about me?”

“I don’t know what it is,” she said (but it was something, something that niggled in the back of her mind as she looked at the challenger, and at the frantic dashing about of Merlin), “but please, I’m  begging you.”

Arthur looked at her; it was a rare occasion when Morgana could be driven to begging, “I have to do this.”  He told her, “it’s my duty.”

She sighed, nodding.  She knew her adoptive brother - duty was everything to him, and he would (was about to) die before he abandoned it.  “I understand,” she told his retreating back as he walked away, hoping beyond hope that they hadn’t just had their final conversation.

Uther walked silently to where he knew Gaius was, his footsteps echoing and doing nothing for his nerves.  He regretted being so hard on his old friend; Gaius had always warned him that the whole sorry business would come back to haunt him, though neither could have predicted it being quite so literal.  With a heavy heart, he wondered whether Arthur was ready to shoulder the dreadful burden of Camelot.

If Uther’s plan succeeded, he was going to have to be.

When he got to Kilgharrah’s house, Merlin halted at the door, trying to make sense of the tangled web of thoughts that had lead him here.  There were flashes of strange images encroaching at the edges of his mind ( _ the sword hung in the air, engulfed in flames that reached to the top of the chasm the dragon called home _ ) but he brushed them away, breathing deeply until they faded back into nothing.  He pushed the door open quietly, still unsure as to why he had to be here.

“Emrys!”

“Do you know why I’m here?”  Merlin asked quickly, not sure why he would but knowing he might.

“It may surprise you, Emrys,” Kilgharrah said amusedly, “but my knowledge of your life is not universal.” 

“It’s to do with Arthur.”  Merlin ignored the raised eyebrow that said  _ when is it not?  _ continuing as if nothing had been implied, “he’s in danger.  He’ll die unless I can give him a weapon that can kill the dead.”

“Then what do you ask of me?”  

Merlin froze - what was he asking?  Swords forged in the dragon’s breath… what connection did that have to his neighbour?  A word formed in his head and he whispered it breathlessly, “Excalibur...”  He repeated it, firmer this time, looking Kilgharrah dead in his gold-rimmed eyes to show how serious he was.

Kilgharrah was privately unsurprised that he knew the name, but he did not let on.  “Who has the wraith come for?”

“Uther.”  

He nodded, “then let it take its vengeance and the wraith will die without my aid.”

“But it’s Arthur who's going to fight, not Uther!” Merlin said urgently, “you’ve got to save him.”  

“That is your destiny, young warlock, not mine.”  

Merlin scowled at Kilgharrah’s refusal to cooperate, “if Arthur dies then I have no destiny, and Camelot has no future head.”  

“Excalibur has great power,” Kilgharrah said sternly.

“I know.  It was forged in the dragon’s breath.”  

“You do not know, you can only guess.”  He said, glaring, “you have not seen what I have seen.  Perhaps if you had you would not ask this of me.”  

Kilgharrah watched confusedly as Merlin’s eyes glazed, “I have seen Excalibur,” he told him, his voice older and jaded.  It was the voice who has fought a thousand battles, watched his friends fall around him, lost all hope and then been forced to soldier on.  “With it, we have slain immortal armies.  I have slain a high priestess.”  He shivered slightly as he spoke the next line, “I have felt its blade in my chest and it killed me.  I know the power it has.” 

Merlin frowned at Kilgharrah staring at him, his eyes sharp at his warning, “what do you mean?”

Clearly, Merlin didn’t remember his world-weary words (thank the gods, else Kilgharrah would have had some difficult questions to field), “In the wrong hands, this sword could do great evil.  It must be wielded by Arthur and Arthur alone.”

“I understand.”

“You must do more than that,” he growled, “you must promise.”  

“I promise.”

Kilgharrah nodded somewhat dubiously, walking into his room.  When he returned it was with a steel sword covered in a thin cloth.  He took it gently, peeking underneath; it was sharp and engraved with elegant runes.  He smiled thankfully at him, beginning to leave.  Kilgharrah watched him leave, “heed my words,” floated through the air behind him, “this sword was forged for Arthur and Arthur alone.”

The night hours dragged on this day.  Arthur could not sleep, so he sat with his eyes peeled open on his bed in Camelot’s emergency accommodation.  He hadn’t bothered to return home that night.  What was the point?  The silence reigned in his room, and he wondered absently whether Merlin was still in; despite his harshness earlier, and despite all logical thinking, he wished Merlin was there to talk to him with his ridiculous ears, endless optimism, and the same stupid jokes Arthur always complained about when they came through the earpiece.

“I’ve brought you something to help you sleep,” came Gaius’ worried voice behind him.  He stood to face him.

“I’m fine,” Arthur said shortly, “I don’t need it.”

“Here,” it was pressed into his hands, “it’ll relax you, take the edge of your nerves.”

Arthur complied, even if only to make  _ Gaius  _ relax.  He grimaced at the taste, “I wouldn’t drink it for pleasure.”

“Why don’t you sit down,” Gaius said, helping him onto the bed.

Arthur blinked once, twice, his eyelids growing heavy, “mind you, if you… forget about the taste, the, er,” he blinked again, trying to regain the flow of his sentence as it slipped from his mind, “the after-effect is quite pleasurable.”

“Just lie back,” Gaius said soothingly, swimming in and out of focus.  Arthur complied dazedly, the world fading into quiet, comforting black.

“That’s a fine blade.”

Merlin jumped, narrowly avoiding catching his hand on the blade that glinted in the midday sun that beamed through the window.  The day had dawned bright and clear, the sun racing to rise after dragging its heels during the seemingly endless night, and Merlin had reported to the arms room to prepare Excalibur for its maiden battle.

“It’s for Arthur,” he told Uther.

“He won’t be needing it today,” came the head’s voice, “I will be taking Arthur’s place.”

“But sir…”  Why was he protesting?  This would save Arthur’s life!  ( _ And cost him his only parent… _ )

“Prepare me for battle,” he ordered, cutting off any argument Merlin might have been about to provide.

“Arthur should be the one who fights today,” he said finally.”

“The grievance was with me, the fight is mine.”

“I don’t have your equipment.”

“That’ll do,” he said, looking to Arthur’s laid out on the bench, “it’s likely to make little difference.”

“Right,” he said awkwardly, “erm, I - I’ll get you your sword.”

“This will be fine.”

Merlin bit his lip, his promise to Kilgharrah ringing like a bell in his ears, “no, sir, you don’t understand.  Erm, that one was made specifically for Arthur.”

“Who made it?”

His mind blanked, scrabbling for a plausible answer, “erm, my neighbour, sir.  He makes uncommonly good swords.”

“It’s worthy of a king,” he said quietly, taking it in his hands, and Merlin nodded.

_ Arthur stood facing the crowd, a jewelled crown atop his blond head and Excalibur resting at his hip, a regal smile painted on his lips. _

Merlin blinked the image away, moving to make excuses, “you would be better with a sword you trusted, sir.”

“No, it has near perfect balance,” he weighed in his hands, “I’m surprised Arthur went to your neighbours, not our official blacksmith.”

He coloured slightly, “oh, that was me, sir.  I - er - I thought he needed a better sword.”

Uther looked at him as if he’d never seen him before, “you show him extraordinary loyalty.”

“That’s my job, sir.”

“But beyond the line of duty.”

“Well… you could say…” he hesitated, “you could say there’s a bond between us, sir.”

“I’m glad.”  He put Excalibur into the sheath at his side, looking earnestly at Merlin.  “Look after him.”

And what could he do but nod?

Uther walked towards his foe, taking out his sword, “you can have what you came for.  The father, not the son.”  He swung, his sword clashing against Tristan’s in the loud, unpleasant crash of metal on metal.

_ Arthur woke in his room, the sound of clashing swords waking him from his slumber.  He rose blearily and stumbled to his window. _

The pair ducked and weaved and slashed, yet to land a hit.

_ He spotted his father and his mouth dried rapidly - he was going to die!  He rushed to the door, tugging hard on it. _

_ It was locked. _

The hilt of Excalibur knocked against Tristan’s covering, knocking it to the ground.  The mummified face of Tristan Dubois looked out at them and Uther grimaced.  Unseen, Nimueh watched in the crowd.

_ He ran back to the window. _

Excalibur was knocked from Uther’s hand as he was knocked down, clattering to the floor.  Tristan raised his own, stabbing downwards.

It stuck in Uther’s shield.

In Tristan’s distraction, Uther kicked out, knocking the shield into his chest.  He grabbed Excalibur and plunged it into the dead man’s chest.  He exploded into a shower of gold, the remnants of powerful magic.

Nimueh left unseen, seething with rage.  Uther looked upon the crowd, upon his people, revelling in the cheers, and tossing Excalibur to the floor.

Arthur flushed with hot anger as he walked into the room, catching the end of his father and Gaius’ conversation; they were looking at a sword.

“...Merlin gave it to me.  It was made for Arthur.”

He pushed down the warmth that flourished in his chest at the evidence of Merlin’s friendship so that he had the ability to yell accusingly, “you had Gaius drug me!   _ I  _ was meant to fight him!”

“No, you weren’t,” Uther said firmly, testing out his freshly bandaged arm as Gaius took his leave.

“But the rules are very clear-”

“Rules be damned!”  Arthur gaped as Uther ranted, “I believed you would die.  And that was a risk I could not take.  You are too precious to me.  You mean more to me than anything I know, more than Camelot, more than this entire country, and certainly more than my own life.”

Arthur closed his mouth, flexing his jaw slightly as his throat seemed suspiciously tight, his eyes annoyingly moist, “I… I always thought…”

“What?”

“That… I was a big disappointment to you.”  His mind flashed to failed missions, training missions that had gone on too long without results, looks from his father that held nothing but pain for the men they had lost on what should have been a simple task…  His mind went to every birthday where his father had looked at him and it seemed that he wished his wife was there instead.

Uther sighed, thinking guiltily of the times he was too hard on his son (of what he had said to Nimueh), “Well, that is my fault, and not yours.  You are my only son.  And I wouldn’t wish for another.”

Arthur smiled, clearing his throat and moving onto safer, less emotional subjects, “I heard you fought pretty well.”

“Thanks.”

“You should join us in training,” he said with a teasing grin, “sort out your footwork.”

Uther gasped in mock outrage, “I’ll give you footwork!”  He stood from the medical bed and kicked at Arthur, chasing him laughing from the room.

“You know why I’m looking at you,” Gaius said that evening, staring at Merlin over the dinner table.

“No,” he bluffed.

“Uther told me you provided him with his sword today.”

Merlin took a mouthful of stew to buy time to plan his answer, “it must have been a powerful blade to slay the dead,” he said eventually.

“Did you enchant it?”

“No, I didn’t,” he said completely truthfully.

“Who did then?”

“Wasn’t me.  Nothing to do with me.”

Gaius raised an eyebrow, “shame.  It saved Uther’s life.”  He looked to see if Merlin was close to cracking yet.  “I’d have been very proud of you.”

“Well…” Merlin said, looking down.

“Never mind,” Gaius said, before giving Merlin a knowing smile (the boy could never hold out long against the promise of praise, he thought amusedly).  Merlin beamed at him before his attention was grabbed by the chime of his phone.

_From:_ _Prince of Camelot_

_ Me and the other agents are _ __   
_ going to the pub tomorrow night  _ __   
_ to celebrate the defeat of the  _ _   
_ __ stranger.  Do you want to come?

Gaius looked at him quizzically.

“Arthur’s asked me if I fancy a trip to the pub tomorrow.”

“Do you?”

Merlin thought a moment, thinking of the hangover he’d had the last time he’d gone out drinking - that time with Lancelot, before nodding, “sure, why not?”

He ignored the look that said  _ you know why not _ and texted back his positive answer.

“Just be careful,” Gaius said sternly, “you know what you’re like.  One whiff of a barmaid’s apron and you’re singing like a sailor.”

He looked at Gaius, scandalized, and pretended it wasn’t true.

_ Merlin! _

Merlin woke with a gasp, springing upright in his bed as Kilgharrah’s voice echoed in his head.

_ Merlin...  Merlin! _

He stood quietly and crept out, avoiding the three steps that always creaked with the ability to wake Gaius and alert him to troublesome nephews sneaking out of bed, as he made his way to Kilgharrah’s home.

“So,” he said as Merlin entered, “does Arthur live?”

“Yes, the sword worked,” Merlin grinned, “it was incredible, amazing!”

“As I promised.”

“But…” he felt a sudden flush of shame.

“Yes?”

“Things didn’t go quite to plan… I mean, they did,  except…”  He kept his gaze steadfastly away from Kilgharrah, “it wasn’t Arthur who wielded the sword.  It was Uther.”

“NO!”  His neighbour’s voice was almost a roar of anguish.

_ The dragon’s scaled neck arched backwards, his roar echoing in the chasm, bouncing off the roof and walls. _

“I tried,” Merlin said, panicked, “but he just took it!”

Kilgharrah gave a noise of anger, of frustration, and Merlin flinched away, afraid for the first time of the dragon tattoo on his wrist, shimmering gold with the magic lying deep within it.

“Uther’s the king!” he yelled, “I couldn’t stop him!”  (He did not notice that he said king because it did not feel unnatural.)

“The sword was born of old magic.  You have no idea of its power.”  He spat out his words, “in the hands of Uther it will bring only evil.”

“I’ll get it back.”

“You have betrayed me.  You are not to be trusted.”

“I’ll bring it to you,” Merlin promised, “you can destroy it.”

“What is made cannot be unmade.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Take the sword far from here and place it where no mortal man can ever find it.”

The sword was concealed poorly beneath a sheet as he made his way to Hyde Park.  It was more of a forest than a park these days since the Uprising had wrecked it, with the playground only a small thing concealed in the trees, and in the middle, there was a lake.  It was too deep and too cold to ever swim in.  He unwrapped Excalibur, taking one last look at it.

_ Take me up. _

He raised it high above his shoulder, throwing it hard and watching it sink slowly into the murky depths of the lake’s middle.

_ Cast me away. _


	9. Chapter 8 - Operation Ealdor

_ He  _ was banging on her door.

Hunith Myrddin’s heart leapt to an uncomfortable place in her throat as she spotted him through the window.  Matthew - the damned, stupid fool - and Will were in his grasp and she sighed, stomach dropping to the bottom of the peeling soles of her shoes.  She went slowly to the door, trying to delay the inevitable, to work out how she could possibly afford his impossible demands - it was hard enough to pay her bills as it was, despite the money Merlin sent home to her (he thought she hadn’t noticed the random deposits in her account that were definitely not bonuses from her part-time job at the corner shop).

The door creaked as she opened it, “yes?”  Her voice did not tremble as it might have, and she was glad of it.  It did not do to show weakness in front of one of Cenred’s gang.

“I’m sorry, Hunith,” Matthew said, wincing under the strength of Will’s glare (he was as loyal to her as Merlin, and almost her son beside), “the children were starving, and I couldn’t feed them…”

She nodded sympathetically, keeping any and all thoughts of his utter stupidity at not asking one of his neighbours for help rather than  _ him _ to herself.

The man looked at her expectantly.

“No,” she said suddenly, “not again.  I won’t let you do this.”

The force of the blow was unexpected, stinging as the bruise began to form.  She gasped, choking back the tears that threatened to pool in her eyes as she landing hard on the ground - she must not look weak.

“Hunith!” cried out… someone, she couldn’t tell who.  She heard their footsteps coming towards her.  But then she heard the click of a gun being cocked, and they stopped dead.

“I’ll give you a week to reconsider,” he said, yellow teeth splitting into a cruel smile, “and I’m sure you’ll make the right choice, won’t you sweetheart?”

Matthew’s hands were under her arms, tugging her upright as  _ he  _ left.  She shook her head blankly; what could they do?  He’d take everything, she’d seen it before.  She heaved in a shivering breath.

She needed to see her son.

 

“Oh my god…”  

Merlin groaned as the morning light snuck through his curtain, and his head spun unpleasantly as he sat up.  Pressing the heels of his palm into his aching eyes, he stood unsteadily ( _ don’t fall, don’t wake Gaius - oh hell, had he woken him coming in last night?  Or had it been the morning…? _ ) and headed towards the door - there were always hangover cures in the cupboard, and they worked as if they were magic.

In hindsight, Merlin thought as he came to the living room door, it was a supremely bad idea to agree to go on a celebratory pub trip.  It wasn’t exactly a secret that he was a complete and utter lightweight; perhaps he should have stopped before he was ridiculously drunk.  Still, it had been fun before the terrible headache and nausea, and it wasn’t like it was a workday ( _ that _ would have been a disaster).  He sighed quietly at his own foolishness and went in.

 

“Arthur?” he yelped.

“Bloody hell Merlin, do you have to yell?”

Merlin stared wide-eyed at the blond man looking particularly unhappy and lying on the couch in pyjama bottoms he’d clearly borrowed from him.

“Sorry,” he whispered, “you surprised me… I forgot you were here.”

Arthur snorted before wincing, “charming, Merlin, really.”

“Sorry.”  He hesitated, “why are you here again?”

Arthur sighed, “because it was a shorter taxi ride from the pub to your house than mine, and I was tired.”  And drunk enough that most would likely as not refuse him - it was amazing how a near-death experience drove people to their cups.

“Oh yeah, I remember.”  He started rooting around, before exclaiming in delight and holding up two small bottles, “drink this, gets rid of the hangover.”

They both made a noise of relief as it worked it’s (non-literal) magic.

“Right then.  Breakfast?”

“Alright then.”

Merlin grinned, “just do me a favour.”

“What?” 

“Never, ever, let me go drinking with you and the knights again.”  

Arthur nodded before raising an eyebrow, “the knights?”

Merlin blushed at the slip of his tongue; wasn’t this what he’d warned Lancelot about?  “You’re spies.  You deserve codenames.”

Arthur smirked at him.

“Oh, forget it.  Prat.”  The disgruntled, flushing, ever so slightly adorable (although Arthur would never admit that, nor could he believe that he’d thought that) man with an (if he spoke off the record) tiny bit cute bedhead went to make breakfast.

“Am I not a knight, Merlin?”

“Nope.  You’re the Prince.  Prince Arthur of Camelot.”

The prince laughed and Merlin ignored him, bustling around the kitchen and muttering about idiotic, pompous field agents.

 

A knock on the door drew Merlin away from the food he was making and, for some bizarre reason, Arthur from… whatever it was he’d been doing.  He probably just wanted to hover and make sure Merlin would get back to making him food, the dollophead.  (He tried to ignore the fact that Arthur was practically pressed against his shoulder, looking unfairly good for someone who’d just woken up.  Of course, it wasn’t the first time he’d admitted that Arthur wasn’t unattractive but usually he was in something like a tailored suit, not something as domestic as borrowed pyjamas… which of course made no difference at all.  It wasn’t as if he was looking, anyway.)

Arthur lingered at Merlin’s side as he opened the door.

 

“Mum?”

“Merlin!”

Arthur decided to beat a hasty retreat and let Merlin talk privately to his mother.  A whiff of ruined breakfast caught his nose, “damn it!”  

Merlin had let whatever it was he was making burn.  What an idiot.

 

Merlin smiled at his mother, and she raised an eyebrow at the blond man in borrowed clothes swearing in his kitchen.  He looked over his shoulder and sniggered at Arthur’s annoyance; he was apparently cursing Merlin’s inability to make toast and wondering aloud how on earth he qualified as a functioning adult, but there was no real heat behind it.  Hunith gave him a pointed look.

“What?”  He blanched as he realised what it could look like, “oh, god, no.  It’s not-  We’re not-  We just work together, we didn’t-  We got drunk and he stayed over.”  He paused a moment, satisfied he’d explained himself... “on the couch!  He stayed over on the couch.  Because he was too drunk to drive home.”

Hunith laughed at her son blushing like he was still a child, and leant in for a hug.  He seemed like he’d accept it until he halted and looked at her, brows furrowing.  A hand moved to gently trace a yellowing bruise around her eye, recoiling like it had never been there when she couldn’t smother a wince and hiss of pain.

“Mum, who did this to you?”

She swallowed - she hadn’t wanted to bring this up so soon, she’d wanted a moment of peace with the son she hardly got to see - and when she spoke she whispered, as if she feared being heard, “Kanen.”

 

“Gaius!”  Merlin’s voice near echoed as he yelled up the stairs, fear written as plainly over his face as annoyance was written over Gaius’ when he came out of his room.

“What?”  He caught a sight of his nephew’s face and his annoyance fled.  He hurried down the stairs, “Merlin, what’s wrong?”

“My mum,” he said quietly, “Kanen’s come for her.”

“She didn’t-”

“Gods, no,” Merlin was almost offended on his mother’s behalf for such an idea, “she’d never…  It was one of her neighbours.”

Gaius nodded.  “I assume she requires medical attention?”

“Black eye,” came the short reply, harsh and angry.  Gaius placed a steady hand on Merlin’s shoulder and he relaxed slightly, “what are we going to do?”

“First, you’re going to make your mother breakfast - I doubt she’s eaten - and then you're going to decide whether Arthur should be included, or whether he should be sent home.”

 

Slightly blackened toast and (obviously) perfect tea was served up by Arthur and Merlin.  Hunith smiled at them, much better for being tended to by Gaius, and she exchanged names with her son’s friend.  Merlin was antsy despite the smiles surrounding him, picking his food to pieces and barely touching his drink (he took a reluctant sip when his mother eyed him with concern and Arthur prodded him hard in the ribs).  Hunith sighed, realising he’d not relax until he knew all, and she flashed a look to Arthur.  Merlin nodded at her;  _ he can stay.  He might be able to help. _

“I live in Ealdor,” she told Arthur, “a council estate not far from here.  I’ve lived there all my life.  But it’s not a particularly nice neighbourhood… have you heard of a man called Cenred?”

Arthur nodded.  Who in Camelot didn’t know Cenred?  He wasn’t a sorcerer himself, but he associated with them enough and left little enough evidence of it to make himself a personal enemy of Uther.  His files had been some of the first Arthur had seen:

_ Cenred King _

_ Leader of the gang known as Essetir _

_ Current Whereabouts:  Unknown, suspected to be in London _

_ Current alias:  None _

_ Crimes:  Association with sorcery, murder, theft, inciting violence, drug dealing _

The list of his crimes had gone on for several pages.  He felt a flash of worry for the people’s safety.

Hunith looked down sadly, “Ealdor falls within Cenred’s territory.  He gives his men a free range of our streets.  Kanen is one of his, a particularly bloodthirsty one.”

Merlin gave what could be reasonably called a rather bloodthirsty half-growl at the name, his eyes glinting with steely cold anger as they fell on his mother’s bruise, “he’s a loan shark,” he bit out, “and he’s good at what he does.  He preys on the truly desperate and truly stupid, offering them the money to keep their house or feed his kids.  Of course, there’s always the matter of repayment.”

His mother placed a gentle hand on his forearm, trying to soothe him whilst she felt the same rage (though she hid it better).  Arthur was watching them, waiting for the rest of the sorry saga.  “Kanen always quotes a fair price.  But when you’ve paid it, he asks for more.  Ridiculous amounts - no one in Ealdor could ever hope to pay.  So he goes to your two nearest neighbours,” she smiled without happiness, something half-bitter lurking there, “and if they do not give him all they have then he…  Well.  He always gets what he comes for.”

 

Arthur nodded slowly, pursing his lips worriedly when Hunith went on to say that her next door neighbour was the one to turn to Kanen.  Both she and someone called Will were about to lose everything.  Merlin looked at him, “I’ll need some time off.”

“You’re going to help.”  It wasn’t a question, but Merlin nodded anyway.

“It’s my home, my family.”

Arthur nodded in understanding.  He paused, “would you object to some company?”

“You’re coming?” Merlin said incredulously; Uther would never grant authorisation for this.  It was just a council estate.  Arthur seemed to read it in his face.

“We won’t tell my father, obviously.  You’ll just have to put something important on my calendar to cover it.”

Merlin swatted at him, ignoring his mother’s amused look, “I’m not your secretary!”

“What do you do, Merlin?”  Hunith asked suddenly, “you’ve had this job for a while, and all I’ve managed to get out of you is that you work for Gaius.”

“Just some IT stuff,” Merlin covered, “nothing that interesting.”

His mother wasn’t fooled for an instant, he could tell, but she did not pry.  

 

Arthur shifted awkwardly, wanting to ask Merlin whether some agents… whether some  _ knights  _ would be required.  Gaius caught on quickly - bless that man’s observance, it was so much better than Merlin’s - and suggested to Hunith that she rest a while.  They retired to Gaius’ room and Arthur asked the question.

“No, I don’t think so,” Merlin said regretfully, “your father would definitely notice.”  He paused, “d’you think Morgana would help?”

Arthur snorted, “for you?  She adopted you, Merlin.  She would be entirely willing to kill me if you asked.”

Merlin grinned cheekily, “yeah, well, most people don’t need an excuse.”

He chuckled, dodging Arthur’s arm and mock-outraged face.

 

_From:_ _Merlin_

_ You up for an unauthorised _ _   
_ _ mission? _

 

_From:_ _Morgana_

_ What? _

 

_ From:  Merlin _

_ Arthur’s coming.  We’re _ __   
_ going to save where my _ _   
_ __ mum lives.

 

_ From:  Morgana _

_ Be there in five. _

 

_ From:  Merlin _

_ You know where I _ __   
_ live?  How?  Don’t _ _   
_ __ actually answer.

 

“She’ll be here in five,” Merlin told him, “you should go home and pack.  I’ll call you a taxi.”

“I can walk.  See you soon.”  Arthur left, and Merlin went upstairs to pack his own supplies.

 

“I’ve prepared some food for you.”

Merlin looked up and smiled at Gaius, shoving a top roughly into his backpack.  His uncle tutted disappointedly and took it from him, folding it properly.  Merlin sat on his bed watching, a faint warmth in his chest - not for the first time he decided this was what having a father would be like, and he liked it.

“Thanks.”

“Do you want an extra blanket?”

“It’s ok, really,” he said, still smiling, “I’ll be alright.”

“Well, make sure you do.”  Gaius wrapped his nephew in a tight hug, “do whatever it takes.”

 

They had to walk to Ealdor.  Merlin was less than impressed but didn’t complain, taking the time to walk ahead with his mother and chat.

“They shouldn’t be here,” she said quietly, “it’s not safe.  How are they supposed to help?”

He looked behind; Arthur and Morgana were teasing each other in the way only siblings could and Gwen, who Morgana had decided to bring along, was looking on with amusement, giggling at their barbs.  “Trust me.  Arthur and Morgana are perfect for this.  They’re amazing fighters.  Gwen… I’ve never seen her fight, but Morgana wouldn’t have brought her if she couldn’t help.”

Hunith sighed, “it won’t matter to Kanen that they’re women.”

“I know.  But I could hardly talk them out of it.  They’ll be fine; the Pendragon’s are trained.”

“Pendragons?  Oh, Merlin…” Hunith looked at him worriedly, “you haven’t…  Not Camelot…”

“I’m sorry, mum.  But it’s fine.  It’ll be fine.”

“Promise me you’ll be careful.  No one can find out about you.”

“They won’t, they never do.”  She looked less than pleased but stayed her tongue, walking in silence.  Merlin pressed his lips together, hating to upset her.  He looked around - no one was watching them.  He whispered, and a flame appeared in his palm.  “Mum, look.  Draca,” the flame warped into a dragon - the Pendragon crest that dated (apparently) back to medieval times - and he looked hopefully up at his mother, eyes glowing gold, looking for the whisper of pride and happiness that had always glimmered in her eyes when she saw his magic.  She sighed and smiled.  He didn’t notice the knowing edge to it.

 

The journey after that was uneventful (unless you counted Arthur pressing the barrel of his gun against Merlin’s back, pretending to be a mugger, and nearly having his head taken off by Merlin’s borrowed sword - they couldn’t very well give him a gun - and yelling at him to put it away before he looked even more ridiculous as eventful), and they made good time.

He inhaled in the familiar air of Ealdor, looking over the potholed roads and littered streets; he was home.  The peeling walls of familiar homes smiled at him, the fading sun winking at him from their streaky windows.  It was just as he remembered.

Except there weren’t any screams in his memories.

“Kanen,” he breathed, looking beside him for Arthur.

He wasn’t there.

 

He was behind Kanen, sword flashing as he warded them away from Matthew (he did have to conserve bullets).  Merlin spared his mother a glance and ran into the fray, not bothering with the sword he was far too clumsy to wield.  He saw one of Kanen’s men pointing a gun at a young girl.

“Hætende.”  The gun heated till the man was forced to drop it, and Merlin took no time in killing him (working at Camelot came with the privilege of, if not a full licence to kill, at least a learner’s permit).  Arthur was fighting valiantly, but he missed the man aiming at his head.  Merlin gasped, but it didn’t matter - Morgana took care of it, and the rest of the men were fleeing.  He sighed in relief.

“Bring back memories of when I used to beat you?” Morgana asked teasingly.  Arthur looked around, checking for who might have heard.

“That never happened.”

 

“You still up to those magic tricks?” came a voice behind him.  “Look, I thought I told you I didn’t want your kind around here.”

Merlin looked around and beamed; the voice’s face split into an answering grin, dragging Merlin into a hug.  “I miss you, too, Will.  It’s good to see you again.”  It had been far too long, he decided as they pulled apart.  Will had been his best friend all his life, only a few months between them, but they’d sort of lost touch when he moved.  Still, Will knew enough to say:

“I heard you’ve been skivvying at some IT place.”

“No, I wouldn’t say I’m a skivvy,” Merlin said, “I’m a technician.”

“Merlin!”  Arthur yelled, walking over to prove him wrong, “gather the people, we need to talk to them.”

“Yeah, in a minute,” he said absently, pulling a face that Will smirked at, “I’m just talking…”

“Now, Merlin.  There isn’t much time.”

“Yes, sire,” he said sarcastically.  Will rolled his eyes as Merlin dashed off.

 

“I know Kanen’s kind,” Arthur said, addressing those who’d gathered in the nearby park at Merlin’s request.  The skivvy himself leant against the tree with his arms folded, looking at him with pride thinly veiled beneath amusement.  Arthur was a natural at speeches; Merlin knew that after watching him with the knights so many times.  “He’ll be back,” Arthur continued, all eyes on him, “and when he is, you must be ready for him.  First of all, we have to prepare for-”

“Am I the only one wondering who the hell this is?”  Merlin flashed Will a look, willing him to shut up.

“I’m Arthur Pendragon.”  He looked to Morgana, wordlessly asking her opinion.  She nodded surreptitiously and when he flashed a look to Merlin he did the same.  “We’re from Camelot.  Here to help you.”

Will snorted derisively and Hunith glared, “keep quiet, he’s here to help us.”

“But he’s just made it worse.  Kanen will be back and, when he is, he’ll be out for revenge.”  He looked at Arthur accusingly, “you just signed our death warrant.”

“He saved Matthew’s life!” Hunith protested.

“It’s alright.  It’s his home.  What would you have us do?”

“We can’t fight Kanen.  He has Cenred’s backing.”

“So what’s the alternative?”

“Give him what he wants.”

The people shook their heads and Merlin pushed off the tree, walking over to his friend, “we can’t do that,” he murmured, “you’ll lose everything, and so will my mum.”

“Then what?”  Arthur asked, “Kanen will take your things today, and someone else's another, and the time after that!”

“We’ll manage,” Will snarled, “we’ll survive.”

“How?” asked Mrs Cavallon from number 3 near Hunith’s, her hands wrapped protectively around her young son’s shoulders.

“The only way he can be stopped is to fight back.”

“No.  You just want the honour and glory of battle!” Spit flew from Will’s lips as he gathered speed, “that’s what drives men like you!  Look, if you want to fight, then go home and risk the lives of your own people, not ours!”

“Will,” Merlin said quietly.

“I’ll follow you,” Hunith said, stepping forward.  “If I’m to die, then I want to go out fighting.”

“That goes for me, too,” said Matthew, standing beside her (Merlin rolled his eyes, having not forgiven him for beginning the whole mess).

One by one the people of Ealdor estate pledged themselves to the cause, faces hard as granite as they looked at Arthur.  Will snorted in disgust and left, Merlin hurrying worriedly after him.

 

Will rolled his eyes when he saw that Merlin had followed him to his house, the concerned face he recognised so well coming out to play.

“He knows what he’s doing,” Merlin insisted as he was invited in.  “You’ve got to trust him.”  Will seemed unconvinced.  “Look, when I first met Arthur I was exactly like you.  I hated him.  I thought he was pompous and arrogant.”

“Well, nothing’s changed there then,” Will cut in sourly.

“But, in time, I came to respect him and what he stands for, what he does.”

“Yeah, I know what he stands for; rich men, non-magics, all men like him.”  Will looked at him incredulously, “he works for Camelot!  How can you support him?”

“He’s a good man,” Merlin said after a moment of thought, “and he’s not his father.  And Will, please, don’t bring your father into this.”

“I’m not!  If anything, he is!”

“What?”

“Oh please,” Will scoffed, “everyone knows Uther and Camelot hate Cenred.  That’s the only reason he’s here.”

“It’s not,” Merlin snapped hotly, not entirely sure why he was so upset by the accusation.  “It’s because he’s good and noble and wanted to help.”

“Alright, alright,” his friend held up his hands in surrender, “but you know you don’t have to defend him just because he’s your boyfriend.”

“I-” Merlin choked, Will’s words sinking in, “what?”

“Fuck buddy then.”

“Will!” he yelped, scandalised.  All arguments fled from his mind.

“You can’t hide it.  No one could stick with him unless they were getting a bloody good shag from it.”  Will shook his head, looking vaguely sick, “I can’t believe you.”

“You jealous?”  Merlin asked angrily.  It was a low blow, he knew; he and Will had been… not an item, but they had shared a series of one-night stands when they were 16.  They’d only stopped when Merlin had moved away.  Will was looking at him strangely hurt and he felt a sting of guilt.  “Well, you don’t have to be.  There’s nothing like that going on,” (he ignored the small fizz of disappointment), “he’s just my friend.”

“Friends don’t lord it over each other like that,” Will said, still sounding wounded.

“He’s not like that.”

“Really.  Let’s see who he sends to did first - I guarantee you it’s not him.”

“I trust him with my life.”

“Is that so?  So he knows your secret then?”  He watched Merlin turn his face to the scratched wooden floor, “look, face it, Merlin.  You’re living a lie, just like you were here.  You’re Arthur’s assistant, nothing more.  Otherwise, you’d tell him the truth.”

There was a deep, empty ache in Merlin’s chest as he watched Will walk away - he felt a little less guilty about his cruelty.

 

He’d managed to shake off enough of his poor mood by bedtime that Arthur didn’t notice, which was a great relief, seeing how he’d have to share his room with him (the girls were in the spare room).  He’d tried hard to convince Arthur to take the bed - he was the guest, after all - but he’d seen Merlin shivering in the living room earlier and refused to take his bed.

So they were going top and tail.

“Have you always slept on this mattress?” Arthur asked incredulously, shifting around on the bed in a futile attempt to get comfortable.  Merlin smirked.

“Yeah.  My bed at Gaius’ is luxury compared to this.”

“Must’ve been hard,” Arthur said, falling still as he realised this was as comfortable as he’d get.  He tugged the blanket around himself and Merlin kicked at him, snatching it back as he hummed in agreement.

“Like rock.”

“Not the bed,” Arthur said, a mix of amusement at his denseness and sympathy, “I mean for you.  It must have been difficult.”

He shrugged, sitting up, “not really.  I didn’t know any different.  Life’s not too bad - everyone looks out for each other, and if you’re not caught you can usually…” he trailed off and coughed awkwardly; he’d been fairly close to admitting to his brief foray into shoplifting and taking apples from his neighbour’s tree to help out his mum.  “Anyway.  As long as you’ve got food on the table and a roof over your head, you’re happy.”

“Sounds…” Arthur hesitated, thinking hard, “nice.”

Merlin chuckled, lying back, “you’d hate it.”

“No doubt.  Why’d you leave?”

“Things just… changed.”

“How?”  Merlin was silent, and Arthur pouted.  He rubbed his feet in Merlin’s face, laughing as his handler spluttered in protest, “come on,” he said, “stop pretending to be interesting.  Tell me.”

“Well, better colleges for one,” Merlin confessed.  That was the reason his mother gave the neighbours.  “But…  I just didn’t fit in anymore.  I wanted to find somewhere I did.”

“Had any luck?” Arthur asked, uncharacteristically softly.  Merlin looked at him, considering it.  He hoped he had… he thought he had.  But Merlin still hadn’t told him everything.

“I’m not sure yet,” he said finally.

“We’ll start training the men tomorrow,” Arthur said, changing the subject with something that sounded (to Merlin’s ears, at least) rather like disappointment.  “It’s going to be a long day.  Get the light.”

 

“You still not learned to dress yourself?”

Morgana raised an eyebrow as she pushed open the door to Merlin’s room to find Merlin helping fasten Arthur’s bulletproof armour.  Technically, he probably didn’t have to, but it was routine now, and it was comforting to know that if he wasn’t there to save Arthur with magic that the armour was at least up to the task.  He kept his gaze firmly away from Morgana’s narrowed eyes as Arthur blustered and threw around barbed comments.  Giving it a final tightening, he sent Arthur on his way to training.  He was making the bed (completely and utterly  _ without _ smiling fondly as he smoothed out the groove which marked where Arthur had lain) when his mother came in.

“He must care about you a lot,” she said, arms laden with freshly laundered clothes for the wardrobe.

“He’d do the same for anyone,” Merlin said casually, “that’s just how he is.”

“It’s more than that,” she said with a roll of her eyes, “he’s here for you.”

“That’s because he doesn’t know me,” he said dully, Will’s words coming to the fore of his mind, “and if he did I’d probably be dead by now.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?”

_ No, of course not. _

_ It’s just that everyone else does. _

 

It was like old times, Merlin decided, as he walked to the now council-owned apple trees (they were on the park) with a stool and shopping bag; he was hopeless at fighting, unlike Arthur and Morgana who were training the people and Gwen who, though he’d never had known, had a knack for fighting born of years working in Camelot, and his job was to make himself useful and fetch them snacks.

“Where are you going with that thing?”

“What does it look like?” he asked Will, “they asked for snacks, and I couldn’t fight my way out of a paper bag, so I’m fetching.”

“We both know you don’t need to climb for apples.”

“You remember what happened last time I used magic on trees?  Nearly flattened Old Man Simmons with the branches that fell.”

They both laughed at the old memory, the foolishness of 16-year-old them.  It was easy to forget their fight from the day before, as easy as it was to forget that it was this incident that told Hunith that Will knew of Merlin’s magic, pushing her to send him away.

“Yeah, well,” Will said, still chuckling, “he deserved it, stupid old crow.”

Merlin hummed in agreement, “he never did like me.”

“Even less after that.”

He chuckled.  They stood in silence for a while, Merlin collecting what he’d been sent for before he had to break the silence, “why are you being like this?”   _ Why are you so against Arthur’s help? _

“You know why.”  He looked at Merlin, the sting of betrayal as fresh in his eyes as it had been the day Merlin had left, “why did you leave?”

“It wasn’t what I wanted,”  _ though I could never regret it _ , “mum was worried.  When she found out you knew… she was so angry.”

“I wouldn’t have told anyone.”

“Well, I knew that.”  He collected his heavy bag, eyes flashing gold to repair the tear in the thin plastic that threatened to send his spoils tumbling down the grassy hill.

“You’d be able to defeat Kanen on your own, wouldn’t you.”

“I’m not sure.”  He thought of everything he’d done so far, everything he’d done for Arthur, “maybe.”

“What’s stopping you?  So what if Arthur finds out?”

Merlin sighed looking down; Will could never understand.   _ He  _ didn’t live every day looking over his shoulder, fighting in secret for a destiny he wasn’t sure if he believed in, for a man who’d be forced to hand him into his father if he ever knew what he did.  “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Try me.”

“One day…” he bit his lip, knowing how foolish he was going to sound, “one day, Arthur is destined to... to do great things.  But he needs my help, and if anyone found out what I can do I’d be forced to leave Camelot.”  He didn’t mention the paralysing fear he had of interrogation; that felt selfish.

Will looked at him like he was still being selfish, “you’re telling me you’d rather keep your magic secret for Arthur’s sake than help your friends and family.”

He left Merlin alone; the warlock sat beneath the tree, knees drawn to his chest with his chin resting on them, trying to figure out what he was going to do.

 

Arthur and Morgana looked over the men and women they’d been training.  Arthur hadn’t wanted to train the women, originally, quoting Uther on the fact it wasn’t gentlemanly; Morgana had threatened to knock the thought from his head with the butt of her engraved sword, and he rather hastily changed his mind and decided that, yes, Morgana should indeed train the women.

“They’re never going to be able to hold off Kanen,” Morgana said, just quiet enough that she couldn’t be heard by anyone but Arthur over the clang of swords Gwen had brought them from Camelot.  Arthur shook his head sadly, pretending not to hear - he didn’t want to hear it.

“Matthew,” he said, “I want you to organise sentry duty, keep an eye out for Kanen.”

“Be glad to.”

“Come straight back here if you spot them - I don’t want you fighting them all alone.”

Matthew laughed at the idea but nodded all the same.

 

Merlin had spent the day thinking, looking pensive whenever his mother looked over worriedly, and when night fell he lay awake, Arthur’s steady breathing the only noise in his room.  He watched him silently, ignoring the fact it was probably a bit creepy, and wondered whether he’d have been given this trust if the truth was known.  Possibly.  Maybe.

Probably not.

He sighed and extracted himself carefully from beneath the duvet, tiptoeing to the kitchen for a drink.

 

“Why do you think he came here?”  Gwen’s whisper seemed like a yell in the silence of the night, spilling through the crack in the door.  Merlin didn’t eavesdrop, not really, but he didn’t hurry on his way for a glass of water.

“Same reason we did,” Morgana answered simply, “Merlin.”  Merlin blushed, stopping in his tracks, definitely eavesdropping this time, “Arthur may act like he doesn’t care, but he wouldn’t be here if he didn’t.”

Merlin hurried on his way, pretending not to have an alarmingly fuzzy feeling in his stomach.

 

“We’re not going to be able to defend Ealdor with sword and sinew alone,” Arthur announced that morning, leaning on a rotting wooden table in the park, privately knowing all too well that their sword and sinew wouldn’t do much at all.  “We’re going to need a plan.  We need to find some way of limiting their mobility and drawing them into a trap.  If we fight them on their terms, then…”

There was a shrill scream from down the road.

The people looked at each other briefly and ran to investigate, Arthur and Merlin heading the charge.  Matthew’s fiance was looking in horror, tears streaming down her face, at the dead body she had woken to see that morning.  Her sobs were harsh and wracked her body; Hunith walked over and wrapped her in a motherly hug, rocking her gently where she was crumpled on the floor.  Arthur stepped forward to investigate.  There was a sharp knife embedded in the back of his neck, a note taped around its handle.

“What does it say?” Merlin asked quietly, a lump in his throat making his voice hoarse.

_ Make the most of this day, it will be your last. _

“You did this!” Will yelled, pointing a shaking finger at Arthur, “look what you’ve done!  You’ve killed him!”

“It wasn’t his fault,” Merlin said, quiet but sure, already moving to the kettle to make the grieving fiancee - Sarah? - some tea.

“If he hadn’t been strutting around, treating us like his personal army, this wouldn’t have happened!”

“These people are brave enough to fight for what they believe in, even if you aren’t!” Arthur yelled, finally snapping under the weight of his guilt and Will’s constant barbs.

“You’re sending them to their graves!  You killed one man.  How many more need to die before you realise this a battle that can’t be won?”  Will walked to the door, facing them from the door, “when Kanen comes, you haven’t got a chance.  You’re gonna be slaughtered.”

Merlin ran out behind him, pausing only to flash Arthur his best comforting look; the blond looked devastated as he began making arrangements for Matthew.

 

“Don’t bother Merlin, I’m not interested.”

He’d heard that line before, he was sure of it.  And he’d certainly never let it stop him before.  “You should be.  Because tomorrow, when Kanen attacks, it’s your home he’ll be ransacking.  Your friends he’ll try and slaughter.  Like it or not, you’ll have to fight.”

Will pulled a battered suitcase from his cupboard, “not if I’m not here.”

“Well, that’s up to you,” Merlin said, something that felt horribly like betrayal twisting his heart, “but the rest of us are staying.  Join us, Will!  This isn’t about Arthur,” (because that was the issue, wasn’t it?), “this is about your friends.  Are you really going to abandon them.”

Guilt flashed in Will’s eyes as he snapped back, “what like you did?”

“I’m here now.”  He knew that Will was upset about him leaving so suddenly, but he’d never realised how deep the cut went.

“Yeah.  Yeah, you are.  And you could end this.  If you used magic… no one else would have to die.”

“You know I can’t.”  Merlin knew that, too; he’d learnt hard lessons about trying to save people, and what it could do to the people he loved.

“Can’t or won’t?  I’m not the one abandoning these people, Merlin.  You are.”  Will turned away in disgust, walking up the stairs to pack.

 

“Will’s father was caught in the crossfire in one of Camelot’s fights,” Merlin said suddenly, “so he doesn’t trust anyone from there.”

Arthur looked worriedly at Merlin, who’d come in and sat next to him on the bed, “do you think the people believed him?”

“No.  He’s always been a troublemaker,” he smiled fondly at the thoughts of their pranks, and less fondly of Will’s extensive criminal record, his habit of stirring trouble, of refusing to stand up to the people in high school who’d picked on them (Merlin had always had to do it himself), “they’re used to ignoring him.”

“And if he’s right?”

“He isn’t,” he said hurriedly, willing himself to believe it, refusing to let defeatism take root in Arthur’s head.

_ Hunith walked to her room with her broom.  She could hear the boys through the paper-thin walls. _

“I’m treating these people like agents, and they’re not.  You’ve seen them fight.”  They both grimaced; it was almost as poor as Merlin’s attempts, “they… they haven’t got a clue!  You need to tell them to leave before Kanen returns.  Maybe me and Morgana can fight him off ourselves.  And you, I suppose, if you insist on staying as you always do.”

_ She frowned at the thought of her boy as a soldier, risking his life whilst sending the people to cower. _

“No, we’re going to stay.  We’re going to fight, and we’re going to win.”  Of course they were.  This was Arthur Pendragon, the greatest agent in Camelot, and beside him was Merlin, the warlock destined to protect him.  Kanen didn’t stand a chance.

“Merlin, it can’t be done.  The odds are too great.”

“I’d have said the same about half the messes I’ve been dragged into on your behalf,” Merlin retorted, snorting a laugh, “remember our first mission?  When you threw the earpiece in the puddle and then decided to get in trouble?  I shouldn’t have been able to make contact, but we managed it.”

_ Merlin was Arthur’s partner?  Why was Hunith always the last to hear about his death-defying stunts?  She sighed heavily, annoyed by the pride she felt - Merlin was ridiculously reckless, working right under Uther Pendragon’s nose, she should not encourage it. _

“I still don’t understand how,” Arthur admitted grudgingly, “you had zero access to that computer monitor.”

Merlin shrugged, “point is, we’re going to make Kanen rue the day he ever came to Eador.  All you need to do is get them ready for battle and the rest will take care of itself.”

“How?”

“You’ve just got to believe in them.  Because if you don’t, they’ll sense it, and the battle will be lost before it’s even begun.”

Arthur sighed, huffing a laugh, “sometimes Merlin - not very often, but sometimes - you give some good advice.”

_ Hunith nodded, unseen.  Her son could be almost wise when he put his mind to it. _

“Well, I must have been due some.”

Arthur nodded in agreement and laughter rumbled pleasantly in his chest as he ducked Merlin’s (admittedly pathetic) swipe at his head.

 

Arthur looked like he was brimming with confidence when he summoned the people to the park that night, smiling at them like victory was assured, had already been taken.

“Tomorrow morning,” he said, getting right down to business, “the infirm, the children, and those who do not wish to fight should take all they can carry to the woods and hide.  It should be safe there.”

The people were watching him, waiting for him to continue.  Expecting him to continue.  He wavered a moment, seeking out an encouraging face (why his eyes drifted to Merlin of all people, rather than Gwen or Morgana, he did not know), before thinking of everything he’d said to his men before sending them on missions that were almost certainly their last.  You never told them that, of course; men who thought they were dying were little better than walking corpses.  If there was a chance, however, they’d fight through hell and high water to capitalize on it.

“This is your home.  If you want to fight for it tomorrow, it is your choice.  I’ll be honoured to stand beside you.”  He watched their faces, “Kanen attacks tomorrow.  Kanan’s brutal; he fights only to kill, which is why he will never defeat us.”  Their faces were puzzled, except for Merlin’s - his shone out like a beacon, grinning as he predicted the words that would fall next from Arthur’s lips.  “Look around.  In this place, we are all equals.   You’re not fighting because someone’s ordering you to, you’re fighting for so much more than that.  You fight for your homes.  You fight for your family.  You fight for your friends.  You fight for the right to live in peace.  And if you fall, you fall fighting for the noblest of causes; fighting for your very right to survive!  And when you’re old and grey, you’ll look back on this day, and you’ll know you earned the right to live every day in between!  So you fight!  For your family! For your friends!  For Ealdor!”

Merlin grinned widely as the people took up the chant, proud of Arthur ( _ alright, Gwen, you were right _ ).  He yelled alongside his friends, “for Ealdor!” raising his fist with them, shouting himself hoarse as they did, ready to fight as they would.

 

This was their last night before the battle.  Hunith was sat in pensive silence on the sofa.  Merlin came in and hung up his jacket.  Arthur and Morgana and Gwen were elsewhere - he wasn’t sure where.

“Come here,” she told him softly.  She stroked his face when he did, holding him like she had when he was a child, “I do love you, my boy.”

“Mum?  What’s wrong?”

“I should never have sent you to London, into Camelot’s arms,” she whispered, “I’ve ruined everything for you.”

“You haven’t.  Why would you say that?”

“I know what you’re planning to do.”

He bit his lip, leaning into her side, “if it comes to a choice between saving people’s lives and revealing who I am…” he shrugged, “there is no choice.”

“You can’t let Arthur know.”

“Why not?  Maybe it’s meant to be this way.  And if he doesn’t accept me for who I am, maybe he’s not the friend I hoped he was.”

 

“Not today, Merlin,” Arthur said, waving away the nervous hands attempting to adjust the bulletproof armour hidden beneath a thick red jumper, “do your own.”

The day of the fight had arrived, and Merlin seemed less than pleased to be reminded of the fact that he, too, was going into battle - it was hardly the first time he’d fought at Arthur’s side, but he seemed rather more antsy today… perhaps the fact it was his home made him nervous.

“Whatever happens today,” Merlin said, so quiet as he looked up from fastening his ill-fitting borrowed armour that Arthur nearly missed it, “please don’t think any less of me.”

“It’s ok to be scared.”

Merlin looked down - that wasn’t what he’d meant.

 

He watched Arthur silently, fiddling hopelessly with the armour he’d only helped put on others.  He marvelled at his bravery, at his selflessness - very few would risk life and limb to help a council estate against orders (would he regret it when he knew the truth?).  He heaved a heavy sigh and Arthur looked over concernedly; something warm blossomed in Merlin’s chest under his gaze, and it blushed hotly onto his face as he finally stopped ignoring it, contemplating what it might mean… that Will could have been right.

Gods, he was in trouble.

“What’s wrong, Merlin?”  Arthur was still observing him curiously, frowning unconvinced as Merlin finally managed to stutter out a lie that he was fine.  He caught sight of the till undone armour and, with a roll of his eyes, walked over to fix it.  Merlin swallowed dryly; he was close, close enough to touch, close enough that if he just leaned in…

What the hell.

If this was his last chance…

 

Arthur froze as Merlin’s chapped lips pressed against his own, warm and gentle.  He stood stock still, his eyes fluttering closed as his mind fixated on  _ he’s kissing me, I’m kissing him,  _ **_he’s_ ** _ kissing  _ **_me_ ** and by the time it registered that he should really kiss back, Merlin was pulling away, already apologising.  Arthur grabbed his hands and dragged him back, smirking at the startled yelp, and they were only just pulling away again, flushed and giddy and breathing far too quickly, when Morgana peeked in.

“They’ve crossed the boundary.”

 

With his lips still tingling slightly, Arthur shook the hands of those who’d stayed to fight for their home.  The exchange was always the same; “you ready?”

“Ready.”

“For Ealdor.”

It was somewhat comforting.  He came to Gwen, dear, brave Gwen, and took her hand firmly.  “Are you frightened?”

“Not in the slightest.”

He nodded, not quite believing her.  He sent his friends to their hiding places and the people took theirs, “hold, no one moves until the signal,” he muttered, watching as Kanen and his men came into the estate.

 

“Now,” whispered Gwen; she and her group formed a boundary of rope, blocking where they’d come in.  Morgana struggled with damp matches, trying to light a fire.

“Now, Morgana, what are you waiting for?” Arthur hissed, knowing she couldn’t hear him.  He looked anxiously around, “something’s gone wrong.”

Merlin swore, flushing slightly as he noticed the close proximity of his mother, before dashing off, deaf to Arthur yelling at him.

  
“There’s one!  Kill him!” Kanen shrieked; Merlin ducked throwing knives and bullets as he ran to Morgana.

“Give me the matches.”

“They don’t work.”

“I don’t need them, I just need a disguise.”  She nodded and handed them over, watching fascinatedly as he whispered “baerne,” his eyes glowing gold.  A fire sprung up, running along the rope line they’d prepared, trapping Kanen’s gang.

 

“Now!” Arthur yelled, leading the people into the fray.  Swords clanged and bullets flew, and Ealdor was winning.  Merlin’s heart pounded excitedly as he watched.

And then the cold barrel of a gun pressed into the base of his neck, and it seemed his heart had stopped.

 

Will’s battle cry rang his ears as he saved his life.  They took the time for a one-armed hug.

“I didn’t think you were coming,” Merlin admitted.

“Neither did I.”

They stood back to back, fighting off the invaders with pure recklessness, laughing with nervous exhilaration.  When they achieved breathing space they looked over the battle.

Ealdor was losing.

 

“There’s too many of them,” Will said, anguished.

Merlin sucked in a breath, wondering whether he was brave enough for this, “not for me.”  He held out a quivering hand, “cume thoden.”

His windstorm swirled into a hurricane, sweeping over the field and spooking Kanen’s men into fleeing.  Blood rushed through his ears, blocking out Will’s excited congratulations, masking Arthur’s win against Kanen entirely.  Magic tore through his veins, flooding his eyes with golden light, chasing the men away.  He lowered his hand.

 

“Merlin?  How...?  You...”

Oh, gods.  Merlin turned to face his betrayed friend, thankful that his shock kept his voice as a hoarse whisper, so at least none of the townspeople heard; they were all patching wounds and heading to their homes to celebrate.  He didn’t notice that, his attention taken up by something far more important, “Arthur, I’m so sorry…”

“Just.... just don’t, Merlin.  How could you - you’ve been lying this whole time!”

“I-”

“Look out!”  

Will shoved hard at Arthur’s side, saving him from the bullet Kanen had sent his way in his death throes.  Kanen fell still as Will fell down, Merlin running to his side, resting his head in his lap.

“Will,” he breathed.

“You just saved my life,” Arthur said, stunned.

“Yeah,” Will coughed, “don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Come on!”  Arthur put his betrayal aside for the moment, “get him inside!”

 

Will was past saving, they could see that at a glance.  His blood was flowing fast, staining his white top and the wood of Hunith’s hastily cleared table.  Merlin let out a sob, poorly smothered behind his sleeve, and Arthur gave him a pitying look.

“Do what you can for him,” he said finally.  Merlin stared.

“You mean-”

“Yes,” he snapped.  “But I don’t want to see.”  Arthur left them alone.

 

“I was right about him,” Will wheezed as he left, “I told you he was going to get me killed.”

“You’re not going to die,” Merlin insisted, holding a hand over the wound.  Will waved him away, shaking his head.  He knew he was dying, and he knew even magic couldn’t fix him now.

“You’re a good man, Merlin,” he told the quietly crying boy knelt by his shoulder, “a great man.  And one day, you’ll fulfil whatever destiny you have with Arthur.”

“Thanks to you,” he said quietly.

“This place has been dull without you.  It was good to see you again.”

Merlin nodded, choking out, “yeah, you too.  I’m sorry we fought so much.”

Will dismissed it, finding it inconsequential.  They spent a moment in silence before Will spoke again.  “Merlin.  Merlin, I’m scared.”

“Don’t be,” the warlock said, stroking his head like he remembered his own mother doing to him when he was scared, honeyed lies dripping from his lips; “it’s going to be alright.”

“Merlin…”

Will’s head tipped back, and he moved no more.

 

Merlin watched from the door as he was taken away to the funeral home.  His heart ached desperately, and he longed for someone to come and stand beside him.

 

“You better be going,” Hunith said to him the morning after.  She and everyone else had been looking at him concernedly all night, seeming to flinch every time his eyes welled up without cause.

“I don’t… I don’t have to go,” he whispered, to himself as much as her.  He could stay.  Make sure Kanen’s men didn’t return.  That Cenred didn’t seek retribution.  Help her around the house…

“Yes, you do.”

Yes, he did.  It was his destiny, to stand beside Arthur, even if he chose to slit his throat in his sleep.  He doubted Hunith would be telling him to leave if she knew that Arthur knew, but neither of them had mentioned it.  They were dancing around the issue, dancing around each other, and it was amazing no one had realised.  “If anything were to happen to you…” he said finally.

“I know where to find you.  You have to go, Merlin.  You belong at Arthur’s side.  I’ve seen how much he needs you.  How much you need him.  You’re like two sides of the same coin.”

He smiled sadly, “I’ve heard someone say that about us before.”  Wrapping his arms around her and letting her press a kiss on his cheek, he murmured, “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’m going to miss you, too.”  She raised his head to take one last look at her son, “when you left, you were just a boy.  Now look at you,” she cupped his face softly, “I’m so proud of you.”  She sighed quietly, “and I know why you’re distressed, but believe me.  When the time is right, the truth will be known.  Until then, you must keep your talents hidden.  It’s better for everyone.”

He couldn’t bear to tell her that it was far too late for that.

 

Merlin trailed behind as they walked home.  Morgana and Gwen had ceased flashing him concerned looks a while ago, knowing they’d get nothing more than a false, ill-fitting smile that was meant to reassure them.

Arthur hadn’t looked at him at all since he’d found out.

Until he stood still, waiting for Merlin to reach him.  “Merlin,” he said coldly.

“Arthur?”

“My father would kill you if he knew,” Arthur said without preamble.  Merlin flinched at the reminder of what he’d always known, always been terrified of.

“Are you…” he swallowed around a lump in his throat, “are you going to tell him?  I understand if you have to… I don’t want to force you to choose between us.”

“I’m not going to tell him.”

“Thanks.”

An awkward silence reigned, making them both shift uncomfortably.  Merlin wiped his sweating palms on his trousers.

 

“Why did you come here?”

Merlin started.  “To go to a decent college.  And mum wanted me to learn to control my power.”

“Why in god’s name would you come to Camelot?”

“It’s my destiny.”  He looked up, earnestness in his pale face, “I was born to stand beside you, to protect you.”

“So,” Arthur seemed even more hurt (if such a thing was possible), and Merlin hadn’t a clue why, “everything you said about us being friends, that was just you obeying your ’destiny’?  What about our… what happened before the battle - was that part of it, too?  How much of you has been a lie, Merlin?”

The warlock’s eyes widened in realisation.  “Arthur,” he said softly.  He wanted to take his hand, but he didn’t dare.  “Arthur, it stopped being just about destiny ages ago.”

“Then what was it about?  Destroying Camelot?  Harming my father?”

“You!”  Merlin gulped loudly, noticing how harsh and raw his voice sounded.  “It’s about you, Arthur.  I use my magic for  _ you _ , only for you.”

“Merlin…”

“I know, I’m sorry.  Too sentimental,” he chewed on his lip, “I expected, after… I’m just your handler, right?”

Arthur hesitated, “would friends be acceptable?”

“Yeah,” Merlin ignored the ghost of Arthur’s kiss that he could feel on his lips, warning him that it wasn’t enough, would never be enough, “yeah, of course.”

 

“You’ll have to be more careful though.”

“You’ve never noticed before now…”

“What?  No, never mind, another time.”  He hesitated, seeming almost shy, “who else knows?”

Merlin thought a moment, checking them off on his fingers, “my mum, Gaius… Morgana and Lancelot found out by accident… Will knew, and…”   _ Freya knew, but you don’t know Freya.   _ Arthur didn’t mention the obvious omission he was making.  “I won’t tell anyone that you know,” he decided.

“What?”

“If Uther ever finds out that I’m a sorcerer and that you knew and let me live, he’d never forgive you.”

“That’s what worries you?”

“That and Gaius would kill me for being so careless.”

They laughed awkwardly and headed for home, knowing Gwen and Morgana were a long way ahead by now, and Merlin could only pray that he and Arthur would eventually be able to laugh as they once had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right then. This chapter gave me serious issues - you might have noticed that fluff and romance isn't something that I excel at... I think I spent twice as much time on this as I did the next one. So, if you spot something OOC, or that could be drastically improved or anything like that, please let me know. :)


	10. Chapter 9 - Operation Labyrinth

_ “Arthur?” _

_ “Yes, Merlin?” _

_ “Can I…” Merlin wiggled his fingers in the general direction of Arthur’s damaged pistol.  He really didn’t want to have to go to resources and explain the third ruined one in as many weeks.  Arthur sent him a harsh look. _

_ He went to resources. _

*

_ “Would it be alright if I…?” _

_ Arthur snatched his cut arm from Merlin’s probing fingers, hardening his heart to the look of hurt in his eyes.  “No, it wouldn’t.  Fetch Gaius.” _

*

_ “You have to accept it sometime.” _

_ Arthur glared at Merlin - he would accept him using his… talents in his own time. _

*

_ “Merlin!” _

_ The warlock started around guiltily, the forms hovering about the room and filing themselves returning slowly to the tables.  “Arthur…” _

_ “Clean them up,” he said sternly, “and lock the door if you’re idiotic enough to do… that in Camelot.” _

*

_ “What is wrong with you and Merlin?” Morgana demanded, bursting into Arthur’s office, “is it because you kissed?” _

_ “Because we  _ what _?” _

_ “In Ealdor,” she clarified helpfully, looking at him as if he was stupid, “it was fairly obvious what you’d been up to when I came in.  If you didn’t want me to know you shouldn’t have stood so close.” _

_ “I know when you meant,” he said tightly. _

_ “So you like each other and now you’re fighting,” she looked at him quizzically, like he was a particularly difficult case that she was desperate to solve, “why?” _

_ “Because…  Because…” _

_ Because he’s a sorcerer and it’s against the rules, and he’s a  _ man  _ so that’d make it even worse in father’s eyes, and why was I  _ stupid  _ enough to let him kiss me… _

_ “Because nothing can ever happen between us!” he burst out suddenly, glaring at the surprised looking Morgana.  “It’s against the rules, as you well know, and you know how father would react if I broke them, especially with…  especially with a man.  He’d never forgive me.” _

_ “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, guiltily, “I just thought…” _

_ “Don’t, Morgana.  Just… don’t.” _

*

 

“Merlin,” Arthur whispered, gesturing for the two agents accompanying them to go round to the back of the undergrowth he had seen quivering.

“Is that it?” he asked, just as quietly.  He hoped desperately that it wasn’t.  ‘It’, of course, was the unicorn Uther had heard rumours of.  He’d sent Arthur and a pair of his best men to eliminate it - there was no question of a magical creature remaining in London.  Merlin wasn’t sure why he’d been dragged along - Arthur had muttered something about him maybe using magic to coerce it into coming to them, but he’d abandoned that argument when Merlin told him how wrong it would feel for him to use his powers against another magical being, so now there was really no reason at all.  Still, he wouldn’t complain.  This way, he could try and save it.

“I don’t know,” Arthur confessed, “we’ll surround it.  I want you to go in there and flush it out.”

“You want me to go in there?  You just said you don’t know what it is!  It could be dangerous!”

“Let’s hope so,” Arthur quipped, shoving him hard between the shoulder blades.

 

Merlin crept through the thick copse, a scowl on his face as he picked up a stick - it wouldn’t do to be caught unawares by something that wasn’t a unicorn.  

He needn’t have worried.

There before his eyes was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.  It had a coat of pure, snowy white, standing out against the dull greens and browns of the forest, and its silvery mane shimmered like moonlight when it tossed its elegant head.  A horn the length of his forearm protruded from its forehead.  Merlin took a hesitant step forwards, hardly daring to breathe as he raised a quivering hand to stroke it.

The noise of Arthur’s men broke him out of his entrancement, and he stared, terrified, at the unicorn.  “Go.  Go!” he hissed, trying to gently push it away, “please go.”  He hushed it as it tried to neigh, “they’re going to kill you!  Please, go!”  A flash of movement caught the corner of his gaze, “Arthur, no!”

Arthur’s aim was impeccable.  It always had been.  In this moment Merlin, who’d always been so relieved of Arthur’s ability to defend himself, cursed it bitterly.  He collapsed to his knees by the unicorn’s side, stroking it’s proud head as it died, salty tears dripping down his nose to splash on its velvety muzzle.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, “I’m sorry.”  He should’ve used magic, tried harder to save it from Arthur.

Arthur looked it over in grim satisfaction, “father will be impressed.”

“What have you done?”

“Don’t be such a girl,” he ordered, but there was little heat in his voice.

Merlin shook his head, but his glance slid over Arthur’s shoulder.  There was a man there.  An old man, clad in a white cloak.

“What are you looking at?”

Arthur and the two agents followed his gaze, but the man was gone.

 

_ Report on the unicorn _

_ I (Merlin Myrddin) went with Agent Arthur Pendragon and two (2) others to eliminate the unicorn sighted on the borders of one of London’s forests.  The unicorn was found after a three (3) hour search.  It was eliminated by Agent Pendragon. _

_ Mission status - Successful _

_ Casualties - None _

 

_ Notes:  Gaius Myrddin would like it known that the legends surrounding unicorns suggest that bad fortune will come to anyone who slays one.  He suggests caution. _

 

“I don’t see how Arthur could have taken pleasure in killing the unicorn,” Merlin snuffled, walking close to Gaius as they returned from delivering their report to Uther.  The sight of the unicorn was etched into his memory, an image of beauty and grace he could not erase.  Gaius looked at him sadly.

“Arthur is a fighter, a hunter.  It’s in his blood, whereas you are something completely different.”

“It was the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen,” he said quietly, “I wish you’d been there.”

“It’s a rare privilege.  Alas,” he sighed, “there are few left alive.”

“Try telling that to the Pendragons,” Merlin said moodily.

 

“Father said to tell you that your reports need more detail,” Arthur told Merlin, striding into the office, “so make sure you do, in future.  And when you’ve done that, you can help with…” he turned around and saw Merlin staring blankly in the direction of the window from his desk, chin resting on his hand, “...mine.  Merlin, have you heard a word of what I just said?”

He nodded vaguely.

“You’ve been in a mood since we got back,” Arthur accused.  “Don’t tell me you’re upset about the unicorn.”

Merlin glared at him, looking around for witnesses.  Seeing none, he let his eyes flash gold (ignoring how Arthur winced at the sight, as well as the fact it wasn’t strictly necessary, and more a test of whether Arthur trusted him yet) and prevented anyone from hearing their conversation.  “Of course I am!  I told you I didn’t want to go, and you made me go in and lure it out, and it was  _ innocent _ !  And I don’t think you should have killed it.”

“Oh, really?” Arthur snapped, “and why is that?”

“It was doing no harm.  You served no purpose by killing it, and Gaius warned that it could bring bad fortune,” he said waspishly, glowering at the blond prat.

“I was following orders, something you need to learn how to do!  Would you have had me bring it back as a pet?”

“You said we’d be friends,” Merlin hissed, “on the way back from Camelot, you told me - you asked me if being friends was ok.”  His voice grew louder as he picked up speed, and it turned out that the spell was necessary, “but since we’ve arrived, you’ve avoided being in the same room as me, and you flinch every time I use magic!  Look,” he flung up his arms in defeat, “you just flinched at the word!  And now you dragged me along to kill a unicorn!”

“I-  I-  I can’t be expected to just accept this, Merlin!  I thought I knew you, and then… you turn out to be magic.”

Merlin sent him a poisonous look and removed the spell hiding their conversation, turning back to his blank screen; “I’m still me Arthur.”  

 

A young agent ran in, providing a welcome break in the oppressive silence that choked the quietly fuming men who created it, “Agent Pendragon?”

“Yes?”

“The head requires your presence as a matter of urgency.”

Arthur nodded and, flashing a final furious look to Merlin, stalked after the agent to where his father was.

 

Where he was, unsurprisingly, was the conference room, staring aghast at the pictures coming through from all corners of Britain.

“Every single crop has died,” he told Arthur, flicking through the photos.

“They were fine yesterday.”

“It has happened within the hour… farmers are at a loss to explain it.”

“Is it a disease of some kind?”

“Perhaps.”  Uther turned away from the images of rotting vegetation, “I’ve asked Gaius to investigate, and told the government - we must ration the food we have.”

Arthur nodded and left, a pit of dread opening in the bottom of his stomach; if Gaius was being called in, rather than just leaving it to the various botanists in other agencies, it meant that somewhere in Uther’s mind, even if he hadn’t realised it yet, he had linked the phenomenon to magic.  Inexplicably, his mind flew to the unicorn and Merlin’s warning - he pushed the thought away; it was ridiculous, of course.  Killing unicorns did not bring bad fortune.

 

Killing unicorns definitely brought bad fortune, Merlin decided.  Even if, technically, it had nothing to do with it (even though it must have, because the universe never had such coincidences as this), he was going to blame it anyway.  Because he was in a foul mood and, really, would have blamed anything from famine to a splinter on Arthur and his unicorn killing.

“Any idea what caused the crops to die?” he asked, peering over Gaius’ shoulder at lab results.

“I’m here to complete the rest of the tests.  No disease I’ve ever heard of can do this in weeks, let alone an hour.”

Merlin nodded slowly, “what could kill all the plants apart from a disease?”

“It’s not killing all the plants,” Gaius sighed, “the trees and hedges around the crops are unharmed.  Unfortunately,” he gave a wry smile, “you can’t eat trees and hedges.”

“It’s only killing plants we can eat?  It must be magic.”

“We can’t assume that,” he argued, ignoring Merlin’s scoff, “perhaps there is something in the soil or water to explain it.”

“What, like an Afnac?”

“I can’t tell Uther that it was sorcery until I’m absolutely certain.”

 

_ Report on the Famine _

_ I (Agent Arthur Pendragon) have been through London to gauge the extent of the famine.  I have also been in contact with the local authorities throughout the country.  Through this I have learnt: _

 

  * __The livestock is dying just as the crops did, without explanation and within the hour__


  * _Rations are meagre_


  * _The country cannot import all the food it requires from other countries_


  * _The people are afraid - there has been some looting_



 

_ I suggest a curfew to prevent the looting. _

 

“So it’s true,” Gwen said to Merlin on the third day since the unicorn had been killed, “all the crops really are dead.”

“Afraid so.  We might have to start tightening our belts.”

“I’m sure they’ll think of something.”

It was obvious that ‘they’ was Arthur,  but Gwen - always an empathetic soul - had sensed the tension between the pair and was careful not to say Arthur’s name near Merlin, and vice versa.  Merlin was somewhat grateful; he and Arthur weren’t talking (which, admittedly, made handling him difficult… so far he’d been leaving sticky notes with the important stuff on his desk) and it was more painful to think about than he’d expected.

“Well, if they don’t, I will.”

Gwen smiled at him, clearly humouring him, and he began to walk away as she ran the tap for a drink.

“Merlin!”

 

Uther sifted through what the tap had spewed forth.  “Sand.  And you say the reservoir is full of it?”

Arthur nodded, “I had men stationed elsewhere check all of them.  Every reservoir in Britain is bone dry, and there are reports of bottled liquids turning to sand in front of people’s eyes.  There’s precious little drink to be found anywhere.”

“Gaius.  Can you offer any explanation for this?”

Merlin watched his mentor sharply; of course he did, it was just a question of whether he’d admit to it.

“I can think of no scientific explanation for this.  I can only conclude that it is the result of sorcery.”

“I believe you’re right,” Uther sighed wearily, “it is the work of magic.  The kingdom is under attack.”

 

That evening, Merlin sat in his room, staring with laser-like focus at a cup of sand from the kitchen tap.  “Gréot gecymen, lecan.  Gecymen gé drýe wæter.”  Nothing.  He glared at it until he heard his door open; “I was… er, I was just…”  Bugger.  There wasn’t really a non-magic excuse for this.

“I was hoping that you might have been trying to turn it back to water.”

Merlin stared at Gaius in shock.  The one lesson Gaius had been pounding into his skull since his arrival in London was that his magic was “a secret to be guarded with your life”.

“I know I’ve cautioned you against using magic,” his uncle said, correctly interpreting his silence, “but if there was ever a time to use your talents, that is now.”

“Well, I wish I knew how,” he groused, gesturing hopelessly at the still remarkably not-wet contents of his cup, “I’ve tried everything.  It’s more powerful magic than I possess.”

Merlin sighed as Gaius left - as much as he didn’t want to see the prat’s face, it was fairly obvious what he had to do.

_From:_ _Merlin_

_ Meet me in Hyde Park?  _

 

_From:_ _Prince of Camelot_

_ I know you’re an idiot, Merlin _ __   
_ but surely you remember there’s _ _   
_ __ a curfew

 

_From:_ _Merlin_

_ Yes, but I need to talk to _ __   
_ you about the crops, and _ __   
_ Gaius doesn’t know that you _ __   
_ know about everything, so it has _ _   
_ __ to be private

 

_From:_ _Prince of Camelot_

_ It’d be very embarrassing to  _ __   
_ be arrested with you for _ _   
_ __ breaking the curfew.

 

_From:_ _Merlin_

_ Will you be there? _

 

_From:_ _Prince of Camelot_

_ See you in five _

 

Hyde Park was colder than Merlin remembered.  He shivered impatiently as he waited for Arthur to appear, his nose made red by the pinching chill of night.

“Merlin?”

“Arthur.”  He nodded somewhat awkwardly at the blond man coming out of the dark, flushed from running and cold.  Arthur chewed on his lips, just as uncomfortable since their fight.  Merlin broke first.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted, “I should have given you more time.”

“Perhaps,” Arthur agreed, “but I should have understood why you felt you had to hide.  And I shouldn’t have dragged you along to kill the unicorn.”

“Right.”  Merlin cleared his throat, “now that’s out… about the food and water-”

“Can you… can you magic it back?”

Merlin shook his head, “that’s why I asked you here.  Whatever it is… it’s stronger than me.”

Arthur huffed a laugh, “I’m not surprised.  Considering what you’re like at everything else, I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re magically incompetent, too.”

“Oi!” Merlin shoved playfully at him, chuckling at the affronted look shot his way, “I’ll have you know I’m perfectly competent.  I’ve saved your stuck-up arse tons of times.”

“How many?” Arthur asked, suddenly serious.

“Oh, I’m not sure.  A few?”

“ _ Mer _ lin-” Arthur’s attention was grabbed by a flash of white, “what was that?”

 

They ran after the flash of white, following him deep into the trees.  Arthur halted Merlin with a hand to his chest, signing various complicated motions at him.  Merlin nodded and followed him as he walked off.

“That,” Arthur sighed, “means that you go the other way and cut him off.”

“Ok,” he whispered in response, deciding against a rant on how his signs were incomprehensible (perhaps another time).

They went their separate ways, circling around till they met again in the middle.

 

“Where is he?”

“I didn’t see anyone,” Merlin said, confused.

“He was right here!  Don’t tell me you let him get past you.”

“Arthur, no one passed me.”

“Are you blind?”

Merlin blinked; that was rude.  Still, at least it meant they were back to normal.

“Are you looking for me?”  The boys started around to see the flash of white - the white-robed man Merlin had seen in the forest.  “I am Anhora,” he said, “Keeper of the Unicorns.”

It was very hard for Merlin to bite back something about  _ knowing _ that killing the unicorn was a bad plan - he surely deserved a raise for managing.  Or a day off.  Either was good.

“Britain is under curfew,” Arthur said coldly, “what business do you have here?”

“I have come to deliver a message.”

“And who is this message for?”

“You, Arthur Pendragon.”

 

Arthur felt Merlin tense up beside him, his right hand flexing unconsciously.  Not long ago, he’d probably have laughed at Merlin looking like he was about to fight his battles for him, but now…  Now he just wondered how badly off Anhora would end up.

“It’s you who’s responsible for killing our crops, turning our drinks to sand?”

“You alone are responsible for the misfortune that has befallen Britain.”

“Me?” he yelled, “you think I’d do this to my own people?”

He noticed Merlin flinch from the corner of his eye, looking like he knew what was going on and didn’t like it.  Anhora didn’t seem to notice Merlin, all his focus on Arthur.

“When you killed the unicorn you unleashed a curse.  For this, Britain will suffer greatly.”

And there it was - Merlin had never felt less gratified at being right.

“If you have cursed Britain, you will lift it, or you will pay for it with your life.”

“The curse was not my doing.”

 

Arthur looked over at Merlin desperately; much as he hated to put the future of Britain on  _ Merlin’s  _ flimsy shoulders, he was the sorcerer.  And Arthur was out of his depth.  Merlin nodded, stepping forward, attracting Anhora’s attention (it didn’t  _ seem  _ like a particularly dangerous place to be, but he was still wary).

“Please, you have to undo the curse.  Arthur made a mistake, but he would never wish for this.”

“And who are you to ask such a thing on his behalf.”

“Merlin.”  He paused, realising how little that meant.  He amended himself, “the one the druids call Emrys.”

Anhora smiled, “well, well.  Emrys works with a Pendragon.  But I’m afraid there is nothing  _ I  _ can do.  Until you can prove yourself,” he said, looking back to Arthur, “and make amends for killing the unicorn, the curse will not be lifted.  And if you fail any of the tests presented to you, Britain will be doomed for all eternity.”

He disappeared.  Merlin grimaced - “I hate ominous declarations.”

Arthur was looking at him strangely.

“What?”

“The druids have a name for you?”

He coloured slightly, “it’s nothing, really.  I didn’t even know if that would work.  It’s just something to do with a prophecy… a destiny.  Our destiny, apparently.”

“Do I want to know?”

Merlin thought of the stress it had caused him already, “gods, no.  If anyone ever offers you a destiny, run a thousand miles in the other direction.”

Arthur snorted, (“I’ll have you tell me one day, but not today,”) and they walked home, avoiding the policemen patrolling the streets for those breaking curfew.

 

“And you believe what Anhora said to be true?”

Merlin nodded at Gaius.  When morning had broken he’d told him the whole story, apart from why he’d asked to meet Arthur (in his story Arthur had asked him, because he was a prat), and that he’d spoken at all (Arthur had done all the talking in his version), and that he’d used his druid name (Emrys hadn’t even come up, according to Merlin’s story).  “It makes sense,” he said, fetching plates from the cupboard, “you did mention the bad fortune that comes with killing a unicorn.”

Gaius inclined his head in acknowledgement as he continued the morning routine.  “Not much for breakfast, I’m afraid.  We’re down to our last scraps of food.”

“Where did you get the water for tea?” Merlin asked nervously - did he want to know?

“Fortunately for us both, you forgot to empty the sink after washing up last night.”

Merlin grimaced, “you’re making tea from washing up water?”

“It’s not so bad.  Perhaps a little… soapy.”

Merlin sighed and sat at the table.

 

“What does Arthur think of the curse?”

Merlin thought to the conversation he and Arthur had engaged in, walking to the crossroads where they’d part for home.  It hadn’t been a very nice conversation, full of Arthur swearing and cursing and loathing himself, but he’d cheered slightly when Merlin promised to help him fix it (“after all, you’re my friend.  And I am your handler,” he sighed, acting put upon, even though they both knew that he was always going to help, even if they’d still been fighting.  Not that he’d admit to that.  Obviously.)  “He wants to think it’s Anhora,” he said finally, mixing truth with lies as he said, “but I think I can convince him.”

“If you don’t want to drink washing up water, you’d best hurry up with it.”

 

“How are you this morning, Arthur?”  Merlin asked casually, walking into Arthur’s office.

“Fine,” came the curt response.

Merlin took that to mean ‘ _ I didn’t sleep because I’m an idiot who keeps himself awake with self-loathing. _ ’  Looking at the dark circles under his dulled blue eyes, he was probably right.  “Right,” he said doubtfully.

Arthur rolled his eyes at him, “father’s put me on patrol tonight.”

“Am I coming with?”

Arthur gave his patented  _ ‘did you really have to ask?’  _ look and Merlin groaned, thinking of the late night he was going to have.  Before, when Arthur thought he was useless and defenceless, he probably wouldn’t have taken him.  Now, as he thought he was useless but at least capable of self-defence, Merlin had a horrid feeling he was going to get dragged on all sorts of uncomfortable missions, including patrolling the rations at stupid o’clock, in case of looters.

“I best tell Gaius where I’ll be,” he sighed.

 

Despite the importance of patrol, Merlin had no qualms about leaning against the cool wall for a bit of a nap.  Until Arthur, being a git, poked him in the stomach with a broom from the corner, “don’t you worry about keeping watch, Merlin.  You just make yourself comfortable.”

He opened his bleary eyes and smacked his dry lips together.

“And stop smacking your lips.  It’s annoying.”

He did it once more to annoy Arthur, “I’m thirsty.”

“We’re all thirsty, Merlin.”

Which, admittedly, was true.  Aid packages promised to Britain were yet to come, and water rations (the odd bottles that had survived the curse) were dwindling fast.  He sighed before Arthur hushed him hastily.

“Someone’s coming.”

 

The intruder’s silhouette danced over the walls, approaching the large Downing Street room where London rations were kept.  Similar places were dotted all over the country, of course, but it seemed that only Londoners were brazen enough to try and break in.  Arthur drew his gun, the dying light flashing on its barrel.

“Go around,” he whispered, “block the exits.”

Merlin nodded, taking the small emergency knife that Arthur offered.  (He wasn’t going to use it, obviously, but it might look threatening enough to stop the intruder escaping.  Hopefully.)

 

“Show yourself, before I put a bullet in your head,” Arthur said cooly, his voice echoing around the sparse supplies.

A man edged out of the shadows, clutching a sack of food to his chest.

“Who are you?”

“My name is…  My name is…”

“Speak up!”

“My name is Evan, sir.”

Merlin moved forward from the exit, confident that Evan was far too nervous to try escaping.

“I see you think you can help yourself to our supplies.  Looters receive a hefty sentence, you know.”

“Please, sir, I-  I do not steal for myself,” Evan near sobbed, “I have three children who have not eaten for two days.  They are starving.”

“It’s the same for everyone,” Arthur said, not quite as harshly as he had spoken earlier.

“I - I could not bear to see them starve.  I know it was wrong-”

“Could you bear to miss their lives in a prison cell?”

Evan shook his head tearfully.

“Then you should go home.  Don’t let me catch you stealing again - I will not spare you.”

 

Evan smiled gratefully, putting down the bag of food and turning to scamper off.

“Wait,” Arthur grabbed the food and tossed it to him.  Evan clutched it to his chest as Arthur warned, “use it sparingly.  It might be the last food you and your family get for some time.”

“You have shown yourself to be merciful and kind, sir.  This will bring its own reward.”

Arthur didn’t care much for Evan’s words, but he did take note of Merlin smiling (fondly? proudly?) at him.  He tore his gaze away with some difficulty.  He was an agent, and a Pendragon; he couldn’t be made to feel fuzzy another man’s smile… what would his father say?

 

_ A drop from the tap caught Gwen’s eagle eye.  She grabbed a cup and turned the tap, hardly daring to believe it when water gushed out. _

 

Arthur had been fairly sure that Merlin’s cheeks would split from smiling when the text had come through:

_From:_ _The Queen_

_ The water’s come back! _

He’d given a small laugh and, after trying to find out why Gwen was The Queen (“a memorable Hallowe’en,” was all Merlin would say), taken Merlin home so they could drink.

“Never knew water could taste so good,” he said between gulps from his full mug.

“My throat was so dry, I didn’t think I’d be able to talk!”

Merlin not talk?  Impossible.  “Well,” he teased, “at least some good would have come from this drought, then.”

The warlock scowled playfully at him, “more?”

He nodded, and Merlin went to fill them - Arthur didn’t think he’d ever been so amazed that such a thing was possible.

 

“So,” Arthur said, getting to business after they’d each drunk their fill, “the sand’s disappeared, the drinks are all back to normal.  I suppose you have an explanation?”

“Anhora said you’d be tested - the thief must have been the first.  You passed, so the curse has begun to lift.  He did say it would bring its own reward.”

Arthur nodded in agreement; Merlin took it as permission to continue.

“If you’re tested again, you have a chance to end your- the people’s suffering.  I know you want that more than anything.  Perhaps we should seek Anhora out.”

He shook his head, “I can’t negotiate with sorcerers.  My father would never allow it.”

“Then we don’t tell him,” Merlin said, as if it was obvious... as if it was  _ easy _ , “it’s not like sorcery on its own is illegal, even if it seems like it is - he won’t punish you for it.”

Merlin, of course, was right.  Magic wasn’t illegal in its own right.  Magical  _ crime  _ was what was punished, magic that endangered national security - that was what Camelot was meant to prevent.  It was Uther’s choice that all magic be deemed dangerous, and only the fear of the government allowed him to interrogate the… well, the innocent.

“He might not punish me, but he’d never forgive me,” he confessed finally, wincing at the sympathy that flashed in Merlin’s eyes.  He cleared his throat, “I have to go back to Camelot, check on the agents.  Make yourself useful and find some food, would you?”

“Find some food,” Merlin muttered under his breath as they left and Arthur moved out of earshot.  How was he meant to manage that?  He wracked his brains; back in Ealdor when people went hungry, there was always someone who knew where to find something.  It wasn’t pleasant, but it was something… he smirked and made a phone call.

His Majesty would eat well that night!

 

Merlin strolled into Arthur’s office with a bowl of meat stew, setting it down in front of him.

“Lost my appetite.”

“You have to eat something.”

“I can’t, not whilst the people are starving.”  He ran a hand through his hair, tugging irritably at a strand, “not whilst I’m responsible for their suffering.”

Merlin made a sympathetic noise.

“We’re going back to the forest tomorrow morning,” Arthur announced.  “Maybe we can pick up Anhora’s trail.”

“Why the change of heart?”

“I went out with Morgana today.  People from all over the country are flocking here - they’re running out of food, and we barely have enough to feed London, never mind anyone else.”

Merlin winced but smiled slightly at Arthur’s nobility.  Despite changing his words earlier, the people of Britain  _ were  _ Arthur’s; he protected them with every breath and would do so until he took his last one.  “Ok.  But you have to eat first.  You won’t be able to help anyone if you’re too weak to pass the test.”

Arthur nodded reluctantly and took a bite, “what kind of meat is this?  It’s got a very strange texture.”

Merlin ducked his head to hide his smirk, “it’s pork.”

“This isn’t pork.  It’s far too stringy.  What is it?  It’s, erm…”  He looked to Merlin, catching his silent sniggering.  “What is it?  Dog?  Cat?”

“Rat,” he said, remarkably straight-faced.  “Fresh from Ealdor.”

“Rat.”  Arthur put his spoon down, disgusted.

“Try not to think about it.”

That bastard.   _ Rat _ stew.  Merlin expected him to eat  _ rat  _ stew!  He grimaced, before a plan formed in his mind.  With a sly smile, he rose from his chair, “look at me, I’m being rude.  Here I am, stuffing my face with this  _ delicious  _ stew when you’re hungry, too.  Come on,” he took an alarmed-looking Merlin by the shoulders, “sit.”  He forced him roughly into the chair, “eat.”

Arthur leaned over as Merlin took a hesitant bite, making the noises of approval mothers gave when their children swallowed down the swill called baby food, “mmmm.”

“It’s actually pretty tasty.”

He smirked, “mm.  Well, I’m glad you like it because there’s a whole bowl for you to eat.”

Merlin’s smile faded and Arthur restrained a laugh (and insisted to himself that there was absolutely  _ no  _ relief that Merlin had eaten something).  Someone knocked on the door.

“Enter.”  He looked over as the door opened, “Morgana?”

“I hate to ask,” she said, “but have you got anything to eat?”

The boys paused and smirked at each other.

 

“What am I looking for?”

Arthur shook his head at Merlin’s hopeless tracking skills - it was a bloody good job that he was a handler and not an agent, else they’d all be dead.  “Footprints or broken branches.  Anything that would indicate that someone passed that…” he looked up, eyes catching sight of the now familiar flash of white.  “Merlin!  Merlin!  He’s here!”

He ran.

“Arthur?”  Merlin swore as Arthur ran, losing sight of him almost immediately.   _ This  _ was why he liked body cams.  With a sigh, he set off in pursuit, hyper-aware of the risk of getting lost.

 

“You?”  Arthur halted his chase as he came face-to-face with Evan sitting alone in his camp, surrounded by food.  “You’re a thief.”

“Wasn’t that obvious when you caught me breaking into your supplies?”

“Fortunately for you, I have more important things to deal with,” he set off again.

“You didn’t really believe that story about my children, did you?” Evan called from behind him.  Arthur stopped.

“What kind of man lies about starving children to save his own skin?”

“Your people starve because you let thieves steal their food,” Evan said, sidestepping the question, “that is why they doubt Camelot, why they doubt  _ you _ .”

“You don’t speak for my- the people,” he said evenly, ignoring the sting.  He should leave, he had to go and find Anhora.

“Your father would never have allowed himself to be fooled like that.”

He wasn’t leaving.  “Hold your tongue, or I will make time to teach you manners.”  His fingers danced over the holster of his gun; Evan watched, unconcerned.

“Your father would have had me jailed, but you didn’t have the stomach for it, did you, Arthur?  And that’s why he doubts that you’ll be a good head.”

Arthur swallowed, “you know nothing of how my father thinks.”  Because Uther wasn’t doubtful, was he?  He trusted him, didn’t he?  It was Arthur who trained the men, who ensured loyalty, wasn’t it?  And it was only because of his already full schedule that he wasn’t entrusted with making decisions with his father, he knew that.  As soon as he was older, then he’d be taught how to lead - Uther had told him that.

“I think he wishes he had another son,” Evan taunted, “one worthy of taking his place.  You shame him.”

Arthur swallowed drily as if he hadn’t drunk the water that had recently been restored, “here.”  He tossed him a sword, taking his spare in his hand, “use it.”

“Uther must fear the day you take his place.”

He rushed at Evan, the clash of metal filling his ears.

“He fears you don’t have the strength to defeat his enemies,” Evan said, parrying a blow, “he must wonder if you are even his son.”

The thinly veiled attack on his mother incensed Arthur - his blade hit home, a fatal blow, but Evan was no longer there.

 

_ Merlin followed the noise of clashing swords, swallowing down the fear it struck into his heart.  Arthur was in danger or, worse, he’d been goaded into failing a test without even realising.  He sped up his pace, faltering only slightly when he felt a wave of magic overwhelm his senses. _

 

“This is your doing?”  Arthur asked, looking at Anhora, who’d appeared steps behind where Evan had stood, where he should have lain.

“It was a test to see what is truly in your heart.”

“Your tricks prove nothing!”

“Why did you kill this man?”

Arthur stilled; he’d killed him because he’d hit upon his worst fears, goaded him into acting rashly when he’d been foolish enough to reveal how deep it cut.  “He insulted my honour!” he told Anhora, unwilling to admit to anything else.

“You could have chosen to ignore his taunts.  What harm did they do to you?”

More than Anhora could possibly understand.  Arthur lived his life in accordance with his father’s exacting standards, knowing he could never live up to expectations but still desperate to earn the pride that occasionally lit his father’s eyes.  Evan’s words had just been one more reminder of his insufficiency… but it was true that, physically, they could do nothing.

“You will lift this curse.”

“It is not in my power.”

“Then,” he thought of what his father would do, “you will die.”  He swiped but Anhora disappeared, leaving him to fall on the hard ground.

“Killing me will not help you.”

Arthur leapt to his feet and struck again, to meet the same ground in the same way.

“You have shown that you would kill a man to defend your pride,” Anhora said gravely, “you have failed the test.  For this, Camelot will pay dearly.”

“My people have done nothing!”

“Your people’s suffering is not my doing.  It is your’s.”

Anhora disappeared.

 

“Arthur?” Merlin yelled, “Arthur?”

He found him, staring blankly at where Anhora should have been.

“Oh, Arthur…” he walked over to him, a tentative hand on his arm as he took him back to Camelot, not sure what happened but knowing that it couldn’t have been good.

 

When Arthur was summoned to Uther’s office, it was to see his father with his head in his hands.

“What is it?  What’s happened?”

“All the remaining supplies have rotted.  Every last bit.”

Arthur had never felt worse in his life.

 

“I know Arthur’s stubborn and pig-headed,” Merlin said that night, sitting opposite Gaius at the dinner table, “but he cares about the people.  More than he cares about himself.  He won’t forgive himself for making them suffer.”

Gaius sighed, looking seriously at Merlin, “you must make sure that he doesn’t do anything rash.”

“The mood he’s in,” he said, thinking of how Arthur had sworn and shouted and thrown things around his office (it was only Merlin’s silencing spell that kept people walking in to check on him), “I’m not sure what he’ll do.”

His uncle shook his head, before looking at his plate, “ready?”

Merlin eyed the food nervously, “sure they’re not poisonous?”

“Quite certain.”  They picked them up; giant insects (his contact in Ealdor had run out of rats) that looked less than pleasant.  “They say it tastes like chicken.  Unless we’re to starve, we must hope they’re right.”

The insects crunched loudly as they bit into them, and Merlin fought hard to swallow.

“This tastes nothing like chicken.”

 

“There are some supplies in the palace and army supplies,” Arthur told his father with some relief, but not much.  “We’re distributing them to the people, but there isn’t enough to live on.  They will not survive for long.”

“Then you must stop distributing them to the people?”

“What?”  Arthur stared, aghast, “they will starve.”

“We must conserve the food we have for our agents and our army.”

“We cannot let the people starve!” he insisted.  Arthur wouldn’t take food out of their mouths.

“We must defend the country at all costs.”

“What’s the point of defending a country when the people have starved to death?”

“Well, what would you have me do!”  Uther yelled.

“Ask for more aid!” Arthur shouted back, “you took what they gave already.”  Uther gave a short, dry laugh, but Arthur persisted, “they might be able to spare some food.”

“Out of the question.  As soon as they realise how weak we are, our enemies will strike against us.”

“You don’t know that for certain!”  Sometimes risks had to be taken, Arthur was certain of that.  He’d risked life and limb for missions, and he’d survived.  He’d put his survival in other’s hands more times than he could count, and he’d survived.

“Besides, I would rather starve than beg my enemies for help!  What of our country’s reputation?  Have you no pride?”

It was Arthur’s pride that got them into this mess, not that he could tell Uther that.  “I cannot think of my pride when the people go hungry.  They are all I can think of.”

“Give the order to stop distributing food to the people.”

“Isn’t that central government’s decision?”

“It became Camelot’s decision when it became clear that sorcery was involved.  You will give the order, understood?”

Arthur shook his head, “you will have to give that order yourself.”

“Very well.  But if you’d caught the sorcerer, I would not have to.  That’s your responsibility!”  Uther shook his head, disappointment evident in his every word, “one day you will understand what it takes to be head.”

His son took this as the dismissal it was meant to be, clearing his face of any emotion that might have arisen at his words, of the confirmation of Evan’s.

 

Arthur hadn’t known where he was going whilst he’d been walking - he was as surprised as anyone when he knocked on Gaius’ door, asking for Merlin.  The warlock had taken one look at his face and, flashing a worried glance to his uncle, taken Arthur upstairs to his room, apologising for the mess with the most unrepentant ‘sorry’ Arthur had ever heard in his life.  They could see the people queuing for food from Merlin’s window, and it reignited Arthur’s distress.  Merlin cursed and hastily closed the curtains.

“They do not know that there’s worse to come,” he said quietly, sitting heavily on Merlin’s bed and looking pointedly away from Merlin’s magic book until the warlock shoved it under the bed.

“What do you mean?” Merlin asked, taking a seat.

“My father is going to stop distributing food to the people.  They’re going to be left to starve.  I had a chance to lift the curse, and I failed them.”

Merlin quickly hid his stricken look, scooching over but not quite daring to place a hand on his friend’s shoulder.  “You weren’t to know that it was a test.”

“My people are starving.  Britain is on the verge of collapse.  And it’s all my fault.”

Merlin couldn’t help himself.  He wrapped an arm around Arthur, an awkward half-hug, and tried to offer comfort - “it wasn’t your fault.  It wasn’t.  We’ll find a way.  We’ll fix it.” - sure it wasn’t helping much, but holding out hope as the blond leant closer to him, seeking out comfort.

 

When Arthur had gone home, hiding his suspiciously red eyes in the dying light of the evening, Merlin had bidden goodbye to Gaius (not saying where he was going out) and headed out once again to the place where the unicorn had fallen.

“Anhora!” he yelled, marching through the trees, “show yourself!  Anhora!”

“You wanted to talk to me?”  Anhora said, appearing before him.  Merlin glared quietly at him.  He didn’t hate him, but he disliked anyone who threatened the people, and he strongly disliked anyone who threatened Arthur.

“I’ve come to seek your help.  The people are starving,” his empty stomach ached to remind him of this, “they will soon be dead.”

“You must believe me when I tell you it gives me no pleasure to see your people suffer.”

_ Not my people - Arthur’s _ .  “If it pains you, put an end to it!”

“It is not in my power to do so, Emrys, any more than it is in yours.”

“Merlin,” came the cold reply.  “And it is in your power to give Arthur another chance.  He has accepted that it’s his responsibility, and he will prove himself worthy and lift the curse.”

“You have faith in him?”

Merlin nodded, “I trust him with my life.  He has a good heart - the best of hearts.  He knows what I am, and even in his anger he kept it secret.”

“And you are sure your own feelings do not cloud your judgement?”

He blinked - was he really so obvious?  “I am sure.”

“Then Arthur will have his test.  He must go to the Labyrinth of Gedref.  There, he will face one final test.  If he fails, there will be no hope.  The curse will destroy Britain.”  Anhora disappeared.

“Wait!  What kind of test will Arthur face?”

_ That is for Arthur alone to discover. _

Merlin scowled - he hated forced separation.  It never ended well.

 

“Let me come with you,” Merlin pleaded the next morning, “you don’t know what form the test will take.  My magic might be able to help!”

“You’re  _ not  _ coming,” Arthur insisted, removing Merlin’s hand from his sleeve and picking up his equipment, “I brought this curse upon Britain, and I will be the one to lift it, or die trying.”

“Alright,” he said, displeased, “how does you dying help anything?”

“I’ll die knowing I’ve done everything I can.”

No.  That was not a good philosophy.  “I’m coming with you.”

“Merlin, you are to stay here and use your magic to help the people as best you can without being caught.  That’s an order.  Understood?”

 

It was a good job that Merlin was awful at following orders.

 

Arthur came to the labyrinth, heaving a nervous breath at the sheer size of it.  His childhood had not been one that involved corn mazes with his father and Morgana; he did not relish the idea of the fate of Britain relying on him being a natural at mazes.

_ Merlin entered the labyrinth, not long after Arthur had.  He came to Anhora and scowled at his treachery. _

_ “You said Arthur would face a test, and here you are, preparing a trap for him.” _

_ “The trap is not for Arthur.  It is for you.  Gehæftan.” _

_ Merlin yelped as the vines from the labyrinth surged forward, wrapping him up and holding him captive. _

He ran through the maze, cursing dead ends and paths that looked just like the last one until he came to the exit.  The ocean swelled to meet him, behind a stone table on the shore.  There were two goblets, and two seats, one filled by…

“Merlin?”

“I’m sorry.”  And he really was - he’d been tricked, and now he was going to be used against Arthur.

“Let him go,” Arthur demanded.  “I’ll take your test, but not until he’s released.”

“That isn’t possible,” Anhora said evenly, “Merlin is part of the test.  Please sit.  If you refuse the test, you will have failed and Britain will be destroyed.”

Arthur blinked; Anhora clearly didn’t mince words.  He sat down and looked straight into Merlin’s blue eyes, “I thought I told you to stay home.”  Merlin shrugged in response ( _ did you really think that would keep me away? _ ) and Arthur sighed.  “Let’s get on with it then.

 

_ There are two goblets before you.  One of the goblets contains a deadly poison, the other goblet, a harmless liquid.  All the liquid from both goblets must be drunk, but each of you may only drink from a single goblet. _

 

“Let’s think about this,” Merlin said.  “What if I drink from my goblet first?”

“If it’s poisoned, you’ll die.”  Arthur shivered unconsciously at the memory of Merlin lying on the medical bed, feverish and fading fast, poisoned by Nimueh’s schemes.

“And if it’s not, then you’ll have to drink from yours and you’ll die.”  Merlin shook his head, that wasn’t happening, not on his watch.  “There must be a way around it.”

“It is perfectly simple.  One of us has to die,” Arthur was rather proud of how even his voice was.  “We have to find a way to determine which goblet has the poison.  And then I’ll drink it.”

“I’ll be the one drinking it.”

“This is my doing.  I’m drinking it.”

“It’s more important for you to live than I,” Merlin insisted.  “You’re the future head.  And…” he paused.

“And what?”

“Our destiny…” he sucked in a breath, “the prophecy states that you-”

Arthur shook his head, “I’ve never put much stock in prophecies, Merlin.  I don’t want to hear it.  ”

“Arthur-”

“This is no time to be a hero, Merlin.  It doesn’t suit you.”

The warlock sighed, “what if I drink from mine first, and if it’s not poisoned I’ll drink the other one.”

“He said each of us is only allowed to drink from a single goblet.”  He chanced a smile, “I had no idea you were so keen to die for me.”

“Trust me,” Merlin said dryly, “I can hardly believe it myself.”

Arthur snorted a laugh, before looking almost shyly down, “I’m glad you’re here, Merlin”

Merlin smiled gently at him, before looking triumphant.  “I’ve got it.  Right, we pour all the liquid into one goblet and then we can be sure it is poisoned.  Then all the liquid can be drunk, and it will be from a single goblet.”

“You never cease to surprise me.  You’re a lot smarter than you look.”

He blinked, surprised, “is that actually a compliment?”  The world must be ending.

 

“Look out!”

Arthur pointed over his shoulder and Merlin looked around, magic bubbling to the surface as he faced whatever new threat was looming.  Arthur grabbed the two goblets and poured all the liquid into one, holding it to prepare to drink.  Merlin looked back, eyes wide.

“No!  I will drink it!”

“As if I’d let you.”

“You can’t die.  This isn’t your destiny.”  This wasn’t how it was meant to end not now, not whilst there was so much left to do.

“We’ve been through this, Merlin,” Arthur chuckled without humour, “and we’ve established that you’re wrong again.”

“Listen to me!”  That had come out rather more desperation than Merlin had meant it to.

“You know me, Merlin. I never listen to you.”

He lifted the goblet in a final toast.

“Arthur!”

 

Merlin watched in horror as Arthur took a drink, both of them pale in an instant.

“No!  What have you done?”

Arthur crumpled to the floor, unconscious, with the goblet falling to the ground and landing softly on the dry sand.  Merlin was by his side in an instant, watching his still chest for breaths he knew wouldn’t come, trembling fingers searching for a pulse he knew wouldn’t beat.  His eyes clouded with tears he tried in vain to blink back.

The world had indeed been ending.

 

“Arthur, Arthur, no,” he whispered, shaking his shoulder.  All Arthur had to do was sit up, laugh at him for crying, for being a girl’s petticoat.  It wasn’t that hard!  “Arthur.  Arthur.  Come on!”  He lifted Arthur’s head slightly, gaze kept steadily away from his glassy blue eyes, “Arthur, come on.  Come on.  Come on!  No…  You can’t.  You can’t...”  he choked on the lump forming rapidly in his throat.  “Come on!”  Arthur couldn’t be dead.  He couldn’t.  He was meant to unite the people, he was meant to be a great head, better than Uther.  He was meant to…

Who cared what he was meant to do?  Destiny or no, Merlin needed him here!

Merlin lowered Arthur back onto the sand and looked to Anhora, torn between anger and grief and loathing that thrice-damned man in his stupid white cloak.

“Please.  Please!  Just…”  Bring him back?  But then Britain could still be forfeit…  “Let me take his place!”

“This was Arthur’s test, not yours.”

“You’ve killed him!”  Merlin accused, “he’s my friend!  I was meant to protect him!”

“He’s not dead,” Anhora said soothingly, a glimmer of sympathy in his eyes, “he’s merely consumed a sleeping draught.  He will come around shortly.”

“Wh-what?”  Merlin looked back to Arthur’s prone body.  He didn’t look very alive.  There was no breath visible in his body, no twitch in any of his muscles.

“A unicorn is pure of heart” Anhora explained, ignoring Merlin’s fairly visible hate-filled glare (he didn’t appreciate thinking his best friend was dead, thanks).  “If you kill one, you must make amends by proving that you also are pure of heart.  Arthur was willing to sacrifice his life to save yours.  He has proven what is truly in his heart.  The curse will be lifted.”

 

“Merlin!  Arthur!”  Gaius was waiting to meet them at the gates of Camelot when they returned, with Uther stood beside him.  “There is good news!  The crops are growing once again - they are bringing in the harvest!”

Merlin looked over to Arthur, grinning excitedly, “you did it.”

“Is this your doing?”  Uther looked almost… proudly at Arthur, “is the sorcerer dead?”

“He won’t be bothering us anymore.”

“Good.  Make sure supplies are restocked.”

“I’ll see to it,” Arthur said, “there’s something we must do first.”

 

“I should never have ended your life,” Arthur murmured, “I’m sorry.”

Merlin and Arthur started laying stones over the grave where the unicorn’s horn now rested, hopefully in peace, in the grove where it had last stood.  Merlin stood and looked around.

“Arthur…”

The boys stared at the snowy unicorn watching them from a distance, breath catching.

“It’s beautiful,” Arthur said, seeing it as he had failed to not long ago.  Merlin nodded, gaze still fixed reverently on the unicorn, barely noticing as the Pendragon’s hand slipped into his.

 

_ When he who kills a unicorn proves himself to be pure of heart, the unicorn will live again. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, please let me know if there's anything that needs fixing.


	11. Chapter 10 - Operation Vengeance

“Boo!”

“Oh!”  Gwen pressed a hand to her chest, turning away from cleaning the kitchen counter to see her father grinning playfully at her.

“Did I surprise you?”

“You certainly did,” she laughed.

“I’ve another surprise to give you,” he grinned, handing her a folded handkerchief.  She unwrapped it, confused,  to reveal an elegant button.

“It’s… lovely.”

“Well, it’s in case you ever need a spare.  You know… for this…”

He held up an elegant blue dress, and she gasped in delight.  

“It’s beautiful!”

“Well, you’re a beautiful girl, Gwen.  You deserve beautiful things,”  he smiled.

“But how?”  Gwen asked, frowning despite her excitement, “I mean… it must have been expensive.”  They weren’t poor, exactly, but Gwen had spent enough time over their budget to know that there was not enough to spend on frivolities.

“Oh, very,” he confessed, “but we’re on the up now.  Things are going to be different now.”

“What’s going on?”

“It’ll be alright, trust me,” he pressed a kiss to her cheek.  “I won’t be back for supper.” 

Gwen frowned suspiciously as he left, trying to shake it from her mind as she smoothed the creases from her dress, texting a picture to the ever-complimenting Morgana.

 

Midnight gave Camelot a different feel to the day, especially when you knew you weren’t meant to be there.  Every noise made Tom jump a mile, even the familiar sound of his forge’s crackling flames sounding like a threat to his nervous, jumpy mind.  The wind echoed through the closed window.

“Hello?”

The hooded man he was here for walked through the door; Tauren.  The man had paid him well for this, though he didn’t know exactly what it was or why it was wanted, nor why he had to collect it secretly, at midnight.

“Is it prepared?”

“Yes, look,” he showed Tauren the melted lead.

“Very good.”

He pulled out a stone with silver claws clutching to it.  Tom couldn’t help but stare, “what is that?”

“I’m not paying you to ask questions,” he snapped, “the lead, please.”

Tom complied, taking the lead and pouring it into a mould.  Tauren held the stone aloft and it glowed as he incanted, “áfæren æt gylden.”

 

_ Merlin woke in his chambers with a gasp. _

 

“You didn’t say anything about magic!” Tom hissed, nervous now.  “I don’t want any trouble!”

“I búgan þéos… áfæren æt gylden,” he continued regardless, halting only when the lead shone…

“Gold?”

The sorcerer grinned, something wicked tinging the edges, “pure, priceless gold.”

 

_ “Gaius?”  Merlin crept from his bed, knocking on his uncles’ door.   _

_ “Can’t sleep?” _

_ “Something woke me.” _

 

Tom drenched the gold and held it up, watching it shine in the light.

“Your’s, blacksmith.  If you keep your mouth shut.”

Arthur burst in, looking slightly regretful when he saw Tom; but what could he do?  The alarms had been triggered, and his father had sent him.  His hands were tied.

 

_ “What?” _

_ Merlin blinked, he hadn’t thought of that.  He cast his mind back to the tug that had forced him back to wakefulness.  “I don’t know.  A feeling.” _

 

Tauren set off running at the sight of Camelot’s agents.

“Seize him!”  Arthur yelled.

“Yes, sir.”

“Quickly, after him!”

Tauren tossed something into the water - Arthur couldn’t see what - creating a screen of steam to hide his movements.  He knocked over the table, dropping his leather bag with the stone, and ran.

“Stop!”

“He must be caught!” Arthur announced, sending his men on the hunt.

“Stop that man,” one of the men’s voices echoed from down the corridor as they chased him, only two remaining to restrain Tom.  Arthur took the gold from his hands, regret in his eyes that he hoped Tom could see.

“Sir, please…”

“You’re under arrest.”

 

_ “What kind of feeling?” _

_ “Powerful magic.  Close…  I think it was in Camelot.” _

 

The next day in Camelot, Merlin could tell something was wrong.  Arthur was silent and sullen, and the rest of the place was quiet with him.  He could barely focus on his work, shoulders tensed against whatever threat was lurking.

The threat, as it turned out, was revealed in the frantic run of a panicked woman into their office.

“Gwen?”  Merlin stood, stepping forward to rest a hand on her shaking arm, “what’s wrong?”

“My father’s been arrested,” she said, tripping over her words in her haste to get them out.

“Arrested?  What for?”

“They say he was making weapons for a sorcerer.”  Merlin flashed a glance to Gaius - that then was the feeling he had had.  Gwen carried on, “they’re calling it a threat to national security!  One of them even called it treason!”

Merlin’s eyes widened, knowing what that would mean.  He wrapped his friend in his arms, rubbing her back, unsure whether he could save her father again… whether he even dared try.

 

“Treason?”

Morgana stared down at her father and brother, hands on her hips.  Her painted lips were pursed, her eyes narrowed dangerously and flashing with fury.

“Yes, Morgana,” Uther said tetchily, “treason.  He was consorting with a known enemy.”

She looked at Arthur; he winced slightly at her vicious look.  “Enemy?  What enemy?”

“Tauren,” he explained, “the leader of a band of renegade sorcerers sworn to bring down father and Camelot.”

“And where is Tauren now?” she asked frostily.

“He escaped.”

“Well then, how can you be sure?”

“Because Arthur saw him with his own eyes.”

Arthur wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

“Well, even if the man is who you say he is, you can’t sentence Tom to interrogation for just being seen with him!”

 

Arthur swallowed audibly, grimacing.  Morgana evidently hadn’t heard.

“Interrogation does not await him,” Uther spat, “his crime goes beyond that.  The blacksmith will face death.”

“What crime is he supposed to have committed?”

“We have reason to believe he was forging weapons for Tauren.”

“Rubbish!”  Morgana shook her head disbelievingly, “he would never do such a thing.”

“Every man has his price,” Uther said darkly motioning to Arthur, who slid the lump of gold to Morgana.

“Found this on To- the blacksmith.”

“So he was paid!  He’s a blacksmith - he could’ve been paid for anything!”

“In gold?”

“This is madness!  This isn’t the Middle Ages!  You cannot condemn a man with no proof.”

“I have enough proof.”

“Arthur!  Have you nothing to say?”

 

Arthur started to attention as Morgana called on him.  He licked his chapped lips, trying to work out what to stay.  No, he didn’t want to see Tom die, but neither did he want to anger Uther.

“Father,” he said finally, “the blacksmith may have committed a crime, but we don’t know that for certain.  Sorcery and associating with it are not crimes alone, and we don’t know that he meant treason.”

“Perhaps not,” Uther said coldly, disregarding Tom’s years of loyal service, “nothing is ever certain.  Save one thing; the law stands or the country falls.”

“But the law must give him a fair trial!”

“He’ll get a fair trial,” Uther snapped at Morgana, “a court-martial.  And he’ll be found guilty because that’s what he is.”

“You execute Gwen’s father, and I will never forgive you.  Never.”

She stormed out, the door slamming behind her.  Arthur stared after her in uncomfortable silence, feeling his father’s eyes upon him.

 

“Maybe we should investigate further,” he said tentatively, hating himself for suggesting what should have been demanded, should have been a given.

“Tauren slept somewhere, ate somewhere,” Uther growled,  ignoring him, “find anyone who helped him in any way.  They must be punished.  The people must see that Camelot’s laws, Britain’s laws, are not to be trifled with.”

“Yes, father.”

He sighed heavily as he left, pulling out his phone, flicking through contacts till he found Emrys (if Arthur was given a foolish nickname, so was Merlin, and it wasn’t anything to do with… acceptance of his powers).

_To:_ _Emrys_

_ Can I see you today? _

He stared at it a moment before deleting it; what was he, a teenage girl?  He didn’t need to rant to his friends because he was given an assignment he didn’t want to do.  Duty bound him to his father’s will, in spite of any feelings he might have regarding said duty.

Even if he’d made an exception for Merlin.

 

“I didn’t know Tauren was a sorcerer,” Tom insisted to Gwen, hands gripping tightly to the bars that separated them.  “I meant no harm, I swear.”

“Why didn’t you tell me what was going on?” she asked quietly, clasping her hand over her father’s.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” he admitted, looking down ashamed, “you’re cautious, you wouldn’t have liked it, and I didn’t want to let this opportunity pass...”

“You call this an opportunity?” she said shrilly.

“I know.  I’ve been a fool,” he let out a sigh, “I just wanted to make life better for us.  For you.  You deserve to be happy.  All I want is for you to be happy.”

“I am happy!  I have everything I want,” she insisted.

“And I’ve thrown it away!”

“Don’t worry.  We’ll get you out of here.  I promise.”

 

With a final sad look over her shoulder, Gwen walked over to where Merlin, Gaius, and Lancelot were waiting.  She allowed herself to be pulled into her love’s warm embrace, managing a smile as he pressed a kiss to her brow, and silently thanked Merlin for waiting before he embarked on the job he had undertaken.

“What did he say?” he asked finally.

“He said Tauren came to him at the forge, offered to pay him a fortune for his help, not to make weapons, for an experiment or something.”

“Experiment?  What kind of experiment?”

“Tauren didn’t say.  But he used some kind of magic… some kind of stone.”

 

After bidding goodbye to Gwen and Lancelot - she was staying with him, unable to face returning to her empty home - Merlin and Gaius returned to the empty tech department.  Merlin started to catch up on the work he’d missed whilst helping his friend, but that didn’t stop him from saying confusedly, “I don’t understand what a sorcerer would want with Tom.”

“His forge, Merlin,” Gaius said, as if it should have been obvious, “it’s the best in the country.”

“You think he was lying?  You think he was making weapons?”  Merlin was dubious.  He knew Tom to be one of the most peaceable men he’d ever met, even if he did make the best weapons in Camelot.  He didn’t seem the type to help an evil sorcerer; shaking his head at the thought, he carried on typing the code for... something (was it the AI car or the new security system?  Damn - his concentration was shot).

“No, I don’t.”

Merlin abandoned his work (he’d do it after Gaius had explained what he meant), “then what  _ do  _ you think?”

“Arthur found gold on Tom when he was arrested.”

“So?”

“From what Gwen told us, it sounds very much like Tauren was attempting alchemy.  It certainly bears all the hallmarks of it.”

Merlin gaped, “but alchemy’s impossible, isn’t it?”  He’d heard about it when he was a child, and he’d wasted many hours with foolish daydreams of creating enough gold for his mother that she’d live in comfort for the rest of her days, even after she’d told him in no uncertain terms that he could never accomplish such a feat and was never to even  _ think _ about trying it.

“To change the very nature of something to another has defeated all who attempted it,” Gaius agreed, “but with magic…”

“Do you think that was what woke me?” he asked quietly, hardly believing that alchemy was a plausible cause - apparently this was what life was like now.

“It’s possible, I suppose,” Gaius said, sounding just as amazed as Merlin.

 

Morgana had put a lot of effort into sneaking unnoticed into Camelot’s forge, staying in the office until midnight; her heart thumped and leapt into her throat at every footstep of the guards in the hall.  It wasn’t that she’d been expressly forbidden from entering, but it was clear that Uther wouldn’t look kindly upon someone snooping around there.  And Morgana had a feeling that, after displeasing him so badly already, he would be less than impressed if she went against his will again.

Still.  What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

With her heart fluttering like a caged bird, Morgana crept quietly around the forge, searching for clues that would prove Tom’s innocence.  There was nothing where the flames had been, nothing in the corner, nothing where bullets fresh from their moulds were cooling… something underneath the table.

There was something underneath the table.

 

She reached down to what she had accidentally kicked.  A small leather pouch.  She frowned at it, holding it up for inspection as her brow creased.  Reaching inside, she pulled out a stone that glowed in her hands.

_ Merlin sucked in a breath and sat up in his bed.  The magic he’d felt before was happening again.  He relaxed as the feeling faded, looking around for Gaius. _

Morgana closed the pouch, having replaced the stone, and concealed it in the pocket of her blouse.  She hurried to her office and removed it, placing it in a drawer full of files and locking it.  She’d have to keep the key with her permanently.

 

“How was she?” Merlin asked Lancelot in a low voice, subtly watching Gwen from the corner of his eyes as she went about her work.

“She’s doing ok,” he said, looking down sadly.  He didn’t mention how he’d held her for an hour and a half as she cried herself to sleep.  “I have to get to work.”

Merlin nodded as Lancelot retreated to his desk.  He began on his way to his own, only to crash into Morgana.

“Have you spoken to Uther?” he asked urgently.  “He must realise this is a mistake.  Whatever Tom was doing, it wasn’t treason.”

“I know that,” she assured him, “but Uther… Uther sees only enemies.”

“But I know Tom, and he’s the most gentle soul I’ve ever met!”

“But he was seen with Tauren and for that, he is an enemy.”  Morgana turned on her heel, ready to leave.

“Then…” she turned back to see Merlin look down hastily to hide misty eyes, “there’s little hope?”

“Merlin,” she sighed, handing him a tissue, “there’s no hope.  No hope at all.”

 

Unless, of course, she forced the issue.

It wasn’t luck that ensured she reached Arthur’s office when it was empty.

And it wasn’t an accident that she stumbled near his unlocked drawers - a charade for any who might pass and see her take a small key and slip it into her pocket.

 

“I offer you no relief, I’m afraid,” she said, her lilting voice loud enough for any guards to hear as she came to Tom’s cell, “I only came to ensure you were comfortable.”

“How is Gwen?”

“She’s a brave girl,” she said honestly.  “She only wishes to see you released.”

“I know what Uther thinks of sorcery.”  Who didn’t?  Uther’s personal, one-man war against sorcery was as open a secret as Camelot.  “I’m a dead man, aren’t I.”

“I cannot see the future,” Morgana said (even when a niggle in her mind told her otherwise), “I can only see the present.”  She dropped the key through the bars, coughing to hide the clang it made, “and I know one must always seize the moment.”  She left with a smile and a whispered message of luck.

 

“Arthur!”  Merlin chased after the blond man, knowing he was already late back from his lunch break but not really caring.  He pointed out the window to the people being lead in handcuffs through Camelot’s doors, “they’re to be interrogated?”

“Yes.”

“On Uther’s orders?”

“They’ve committed a crime,” Arthur replied dully, repeating what his father had impressed upon him.

“What crime?”

Arthur bit his lip, wracking his brain for the official answer,  “they housed and aided a sorcerer known to pose a threat to national security.”

“They’re being interrogated for giving a man a bed for a night?”

“Not a man,” he said, ignoring the flash of pain in Merlin’s expression with some difficulty, “a sorcerer.”

“Maybe they didn’t know that!”

“It is not your place to question my father’s actions!” Arthur exploded, glaring down at Merlin as he took a step backwards, “is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Arthur sighed, “I’m sorry, Merlin.  You’re right, of course, and I didn’t mean it about sorcerers not being men.”

Merlin nodded silently, trying to retain his anger and hurt as it slipped away.  He managed a decent amount, channelling it into a glare as Arthur suggested that he get back to whatever it was that he was meant to be doing. 

 

“Alert Uther!”

Tom swore inwardly as he heard the yell behind him as a guard happened upon his empty cell.  He’d taken Morgana’s advice, waiting until nighttime to unlock the door and sneak out.  He swung at the guard closing the dungeon gates, knocking him out cold.  Taking the man’s pistol - in good condition, of course, because he’d made it himself - and muttering a quiet apology, he ran through Camelot’s empty passageways.

_ Arthur and Uther heard the news of Tom’s escape together. _

_ “He’s just proved his guilt,” Uther declared, scowling at the thought of him, “and proved that he is a security threat.  You are to kill him on sight.” _

_ The other agents nodded and left to complete their task, leaving the Pendragons alone. _

_ “But father- sir!  The trial!” _

_ “The trial was merely a formality.  Now I want him dead, and an end to this.” _

_ Arthur blinked at him.  He’d never known his father to so blatantly flout the country’s laws.  But what could he do?  Nodding, he followed his men. _

Tom reached the final staircase between him and freedom, but it was blocked by Camelot’s men.  He blanched at the sight of them, dropping his gun to the floor.

“Please...” he begged, dropping to his knees and raising his hands.

“Kill him.”

Arthur appeared behind his men, “wait!”  But, of course, he was far too late.  Tom lay on the floor, his unblinking eyes wide and glazed as they stared at the ceiling, blood flowing from his bullet-riddled torso and pooling on the floor.

_ Uther smiled as he received the text telling him that the deed was done. _

 

Gwen wailed and sobbed in Lancelot’s arms when she received the call telling her what had been done.

 

“You have blood on your hands, Uther Pendragon!”  Morgana burst into his office, hardly knowing where she found the energy in the small hours of the morning.  “Blood that will never wash off!”

He looked at her from his desk, “may I remind you that you are talking to your father as well as your employer.”

She scoffed - Uther might have adopted her, but he was not her father.  Not if he went around slaughtering innocents without remorse.  “May I remind you that when you took your place at the helm of Camelot, you vowed to be wise and just, and you are neither.  You rule only with a gun.”

“You don’t know how leading Camelot works, Morgana.  It is my duty to protect Britain from those who seek to use sorcery as a way of gaining an advantage over the common people.  The fate of our country relies on me protecting it from its enemies.”

“Then Britain is doomed,” Morgana snapped, “because you make enemies of us all, one by one.”

“Be careful, Morgana, else I might think you an ally of the sorcerers.  You might be thought of as a traitor.”

She bristled at the threat, “only a madman hears the truth as treason!”

“Careful girl or I’ll have you restrained!”

“I’d like to see you try!”

 

The dungeons of Camelot were cold, and the handcuffs too tight.  The chafed uncomfortably as she strained against them.

“You will remain here until you learn your lesson,” Uther told his daughter as if she was a troublesome toddler he’d placed on the naughty step.

“I have learnt my lesson,” she said coldly, voice rising to an almost hysterical yell as she cried, “I have learned that you care not for me, or anyone but yourself!  That you’re driven mad with power!  That you’re a tyrant!”

The cell door slammed, and Morgana was left alone.

 

“Alright?”  Merlin sat beside Gwen as she sat on her sofa staring blankly ahead.  Lancelot had called him to sit with her as he had to leave, whilst Merlin could simply beg off work with his uncle.  He placed a hand on her forearm, remembering what she had done for him in the days after Freya and trying to replicate it.

“I don’t understand,” she said suddenly.  Her voice was faint as if she’d forgotten how to use it properly, “I don’t understand.  His trial was this morning.  Why did he try to escape?”

_ Because he knew he wouldn’t win _ , Merlin didn’t say.  He let her lean silently against him, rubbing her back.

 

Someone knocked gently on the door - Arthur.  Gwen stood as he entered, but he motioned that she needn’t bother.

“Sir,” she said formally, taking her previous seat without leaning in for comfort.

“Guinevere, I…want you to know that your job is safe.  And that your home is yours for life, or for as long as you want it.”  All three of them knew that Uther would never grant such things, that this was Arthur’s apology, not Camelot’s, but they didn’t mention it.  “I guarantee you that.  I know that under the circumstances it’s not much but, erm…” he cleared his throat awkwardly, “anything you want, anything you need, all you have to do is ask.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Arthur nodded stiffly and went to leave.  He hesitated with one foot over the threshold, “I’m sorry.”

Gwen nodded at him and let him go.

 

Lancelot offered Gwen a home for as long as she wanted it; he knew instinctively that she wouldn’t want to stay in that empty home alone, not yet.  She was beyond grateful and waved off further offers of aid.  Such as a lift over as she went to fetch fresh clothes for the night and next day; she could work, and she didn’t want to impose further on her boyfriend, even when he tried to insist.

She wished she had taken the lift later, when a man leapt from the shadows and grabbed her, covering her mouth to smother her scream.

“I want the stone,” he hissed, “where is it?”

Gwen tried to shake her head, and he removed his hand.  She took in a breath, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.  I don’t know about any stone.  I don’t know-”

He replaced his hand, “listen to me.  In two days, I’ll be in the Darkling Woods.  You bring the stone, or you die, understood?”

She gave a muffled confirmation, nodding with difficulty, tears spilling out.  

 

When Lancelot asked later what was wrong, she lied.

 

“Merlin?”  Gaius beckoned his nephew over just as he was about to leave the room for bed, “I’ve been doing some research.  Come and look at this.”

“Hmm?” He leant over Gaius’ shoulder, peering at where he pointed; “the Mage stone?”

“Wonder of the ancients.  Lost since medieval times.”

“What’s it do?”  Merlin didn’t fancy pouring over the tiny text as Gaius had done.

“Theoretically, it gives the user the power of transformation.”

“The power of alchemy,” Merlin realised, “you think that’s what I felt?”

“Exactly.  It is powerful enough that you would sense it.”

Merlin nodded - Gwen had, of course, mentioned the stone, so everything fit.  The only question was, where was it?

 

Arthur sighed as he stood outside Morgana’s cell.  It had been a bitter fight to get his father to reconsider the punishment.  He opened it quietly and stepped inside.

“You,” Morgana said, disgusted.  “How proud you must be.  Son of the mighty Uther.”

_ God, it’s like when we were kids _ .  Morgana had, in the days when she had first been placed in Uther’s custody, resented Arthur for the fact that he still had a father, that Uther was his father.  It hadn’t lasted long, but it had (and still) stung.

“How you must look up to him,” she went on.  “Does the head’s little helper bring a message?  Or have you just come to gloat?”

He scowled at her, angry enough to let her be afraid for a little while longer, “guards!”

“Get away from me, you cowards!” she shrieked, moving away from them until her back was flat against the wall.  She froze, breaths coming shallowly, as they unlocked her.

“You’re free to go,” Arthur said.

She walked to the door silently.

“Morgana.”

She looked at him.

“I swore to him you’d never challenge his authority again.  I swore that you’d learned your lesson.  Tread carefully.  Next time, I may not be able to help you.”

Morgana nodded, “thank you.  You always were a better man than your father.”

 

“Gwen?”

Morgana walked into her office to see her secretary working diligently.  She’d thought that Gwen would take some time off, not that she’d be here to see her in yesterday’s clothes and have something more to worry about.

“Morgana!”

“I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Gwen shrugged - she hadn’t been able to bear the thought of being alone with nothing but memories all day - and took in her friend’s day old clothes and unbrushed hair, “what happened to you?”

“Nothing a hot bath couldn’t fix,” she replied with forced levity, only to see Gwen’s sharp eyes zero in on the redness of her wrist where the cuffs had rubbed.  “I spent the night in a cell.”

Gwen’s eyes widened, “Uther.”

“He doesn’t like to be challenged.”

“It wasn’t about my father, was it?”

“You have enough to deal with without worrying about such things.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Gwen insisted, her voice high and firm, “not on my account.  If anything happened to you,”  _ if she lost another person to Uther’s tyranny and paranoia,  _ “I couldn’t bear it.”

“You need to go home, Gwen,” she said softly, “get some rest.  Please.”

“I’m fine.”

“I insist.”  She was ignored; her secretary instead walked to her bag and took out a hairbrush, walking to where Morgana had taken a seat and looking as if she intended to brush the tangles out herself.  “Gwen?”

Gwen froze, behind Morgana and out of sight, trying not to cry.  “I can’t go home!” she burst out, “nor can I go to Lancelot’s.”

“It’s understandable to feel alone.”

“Tauren…”

“Tauren?”  Morgana looked nervously up to her friend’s tearstained face, praying that she hadn’t been spotted with the sorcerer who had cost her father his life.  Uther wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate her, to denounce her family as tainted.

“He attacked me,” Gwen whispered, “he was looking for some kind of stone.”

Morgana’s mind flew to the stone secreted in her desk, “stone?”

“He said if I didn’t bring it to him, he’d kill me.  He’s waiting for me in the Darkling Woods.  I have to do something.  If I don’t get this stone to him by dawn tomorrow…”

She rose suddenly, and Gwen looked anxiously at her, “where are you going?”  She hoped that she didn’t intend to go after Tauren herself.  She might be trained, but it didn’t mean that she could take on a sorcerer alone.

“I’m going to send the agents, of course,” she told her, already halfway out the door.  “It won’t be you Tauren meets.  It’ll be the best fighters in Britain.”

 

Except that wasn’t her plan.  After sending Gwen to Lancelot, she took the mage stone from its hiding place.

_ Merlin gasped as he once again sensed the Mage Stone’s power.  He left the office, following the feel of it. _

She walked out of Camelot without being questioned - her position often gave her cause to leave unexpectedly, and when she wore such a solemn look as she did now, no one dared question her.

_ He blinked as he spotted Morgana, resisting the urge to call out.  What was she doing?  And how did she have the Mage Stone?  He bit his lip, trying to figure out the best course of action.  Call Gaius?  Arthur? _

_ He decided to follow her. _

The woods weren’t too far from Camelot, and Morgana was soon face-to-face with Tauren, surrounded by his men.

_ Gods, was Morgana fool enough to try and take on Tauren and his men alone?  That didn’t seem like her…  He hid behind a tree, ready to intervene if required. _

“Where’s your secretary?” Tauren demanded, glaring at her.  Morgana didn’t flinch.

“I’ve come in her place.”

“Kill her.”

_ Hell.  Merlin prepared to leap out and defend his friend. _

“No!  Wait!  I have the stone!”  She took out the leather pouch.

“What else have you brought?  The agents of Camelot?”

_ No.  Just one defensive, hidden warlock. _

“I came alone, I promise you.”

Tauren nodded grimly, “hand it over.”  Morgana complied and he looked at her, “you were foolish to come here without Uther’s protection.  I had no quarrel with the girl, but you are a Pendragon.”  He drew his pistol and aimed at her stomach.  All he had to do was pull the trigger and she’d be left in the forest to bleed out; no one would search for her until the morning.  She swallowed down her nerves.

“I am a Pendragon in name only.”  Raising her neck in a haughty manner she assured him, “you don’t want to kill me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want Uther dead, too.”

_ Merlin gaped - what was she doing? _

 

“You?” the rogue sorcerer scoffed, “an enemy of Uther?  I’m expected to swallow that?”

“Why else would I be here?”

“I don’t pretend to know your motives,” he hissed, “but you do work for Camelot.  You’re probably here as a spy.”

“And this,” she pulled up her sleeves, revealing the purpling marks that her night in handcuffs had left, “is that how Uther treats his friends?  I spent a night in Camelot’s cells, chained like a criminal.”  He nodded, and she let her sleeves fall.

_ He winced at the cruel marks on her wrists - he’d have to make an excuse to know about them later and drag her to Gaius’ to see if he had something for them.  After he’d found out if she really was planning an assassination. _

“You took the stone to the forge,” she said, getting straight to business, “why?”

“With it, a man can change the very nature of things.  You can transform a lump of lead into gold.”

“Gold?”  She reconsidered the idea of working with him, “are riches worth a good man’s life?  You have made an orphan of his daughter, Tauren.”

“And for that, I am sorry.”  He sounded sincere, but perhaps he was simply a good actor.  “But the gold is not to line my pocket.  The gold was a means, a means to rid this country of Uther Pendragon once and for all.”

“What do you mean?”

Tauren looked around, suddenly wary.  “We have made contact with the one who calls himself Drakon.”

Morgana gasped, “you mean…?”

“Yes.  Enough gold can prepare the people for war.  For a second Uprising.”

_ An Uprising?  Merlin barely kept in his gasp.  The Uprising had ended two years before his birth, lasting only three months (the first months of Arthur’s life), but he’d still heard the stories of destruction, of terror and pain and death.  He had still seen the shiver run down his mother’s back at the mention of those times, and the scars of the Uprising still marred London - the forests they stood in now were magical in origin, standing where houses once had.  Another Uprising would be catastrophic,  ending lives and ruining London. _

_ Not to mention that the overtime at work would be horrific. _

She shook his head at Tauren, “an Uprising may rid you of Uther, but the people would never support you.  Not after inflicting such damage.”

“Do you have a better plan?”

“You need something quiet, subtle.  Someone close to Uther who can eliminate him.”

“And do you know someone like that?”

“Yes, I do” she smiled wickedly at him.  “Me.”

_ Gods above - what was he meant to do now? _

 

Gaius looked concernedly at Merlin.  His nephew had been distracted all day.  Well, not quite.  He’d been distracted ever since he’d disappeared for half an hour.  No one knew where he’d been, but he’d not said a word since he returned.  And it had taken him three times as long as normal to do his work.

“Pass the salt, please.”

Merlin didn’t look, passing him an apple.  Gaius frowned.

“Are you alright, my boy?”

“What?”  Merlin started at the question, trying to look unconcerned, “yeah, I’m fine.  Just got a few things on my mind.”

_ Like the fact that Tauren wanted a second Uprising, and the only reason he wasn’t going to go to Drakon - whoever he was - and start one was because Morgana was going to kill Uther herself. _

“Anything you’d like to talk to me about?”

“Can’t imagine you’d be interested,” came his stilted reply.  Gaius looked at him,  unconvinced by knowing better than to pry.

“Well, if you’re sure…”

“I need to go see Kilgharrah.”

“Merlin-”

He stood to leave.

“Er, Merlin?”  Gaius raised an eyebrow at him as he faced him, “that’s the door to the hall.”

 

His neighbour was snoozing on the couch when Merlin entered, and he felt a little guilty when he had to clear his throat to wake him.

“Well, Emrys,” he said, blinking blearily at him, “I assume you have something to ask of me.”

He nodded, “I need your help.”

“Of course you do.  The question is, will you heed my advice?”

“I-”

“Before you ask your question,” Mr Kilgharrah said, raising a hand to halt his words, “I have something to ask of you.”

“What?”  Merlin looked at him confusedly, thoughts of Tauren and Morgana momentarily banished - Kilgharrah was a more talented sorcerer than him.  What could he possibly need  _ Merlin’s  _ help for?

“I need you to free me,” he said solemnly.

“Free you?”

“Look at me, Emrys.  Look at me, trapped in this aged, human body.  This isn’t my true form.”

“It… it isn’t?”

“No.  You call me the Great Dragon as a nickname on your mobile phone,” Merlin blushed slightly at being caught as Kilgharrah continued, “but that was what I once was.  A lifetime ago, I was the Great Dragon, free to soar in the sky and live, a creature of magic.”

“What?  You can remember another life?”

“No.  A mortal mind is not meant to house two lives.  But there are snippets, dreams.”

Merlin nodded and, unbidden, a flickering image of himself who wasn’t himself filled his mind.  He pushed it away to ask, “how do I free you?”

“You cannot, not yet,” Kilgharrah said sadly, “but I trust that you one day will.  Now, what was it that you needed?”

 

Merlin remembered the purpose of his visit with alarming rapidity, “the sorcerer Tauren is plotting to kill Uther.  He’s made an ally of Morgana.  I don’t know what to do!”

“Nothing,” came the simple reply.

“Nothing?  What do you mean?  If I do nothing, Uther will die.”

“And why should he not?  Do you not want him dead?  He has killed hundreds of our people.  It is he that forces you to keep your true nature hidden.  You will only be free when Uther dies, Emrys.  Let his reign end and Arthur’s begin.  Fulfill your destiny!”

He stared at him, “since when does my destiny include murder?”

“Free this country from tyranny, Emrys!”  Kilgharrah’s magic began pushing him to the door, “free us all!”

 

Morgana smoothed invisible creases in her pencil skirt, preparing the finer details of her plan.  All she needed to do was bait Uther into wanting to beg  _ her  _ forgiveness; the fact that it required her to grovel made her nauseous, but it had to be done.  She knocked quietly on the door of his office, arranging her expression into one of submissiveness.

“I didn’t expect to see you,” he said as she entered, his voice cold but vaguely curious, “what do you want?”

“I came to apologise, sir.”

“Good.”

She stiffened but hid it swiftly.  “I didn’t mean to rile you, sir,” she said, pulling on subservience like a glove, “I thought only of Gwen.  The poor girl is all alone in the world.”   _ Which was slightly untrue - there was Morgana and Merlin - but details were unimportant in this moment _ .

“It was not my intention to hurt your secretary,” he said honestly.  He had thought only of ridding the renegade sorcerer of an ally.

“But she does hurt.  She suffers greatly, and I know how she suffers.”   _ Here we go.  Time for the true manipulation to begin. _

“Morgana…”

“I only meant,” she said quickly -  _ seem to be struggling to control emotions _ \- watching his expression, “that I know what it’s like to lose a father.”

Uther’s face slid into understanding, “that was a terrible day.  Your father was a great friend of mine.”  He paused a moment, turning defensive, “I played no part in his death.”

Morgana scowled, thinking of the day; her father, the infamous and deadly MI6 Agent Galoris, was sent by Uther - who was then still an MI6 operative himself and would be for two more years - behind enemy lines to collect critical information on their operations.  “It was under your orders that he was captured.  You promised him aid, reinforcements, and delivered none.  You sent him to his death.”  Years of pain and anger rose up like bile, leaving a bitter taste in her taste.

“That isn’t true.  It was never my intention.”

“But it happened!”  Thoughts of manipulation were far from her mind, replaced with the urge to force him to feel her fury, her hurt - later, she’d be embarrassed at her loss of control.  “And it keeps on happening!”

“Morgana!”

“I’m sorry, sir.”  A tear slid down her pale cheek as she left, storming out of the room.  Still, when she took two steps and thought of the success she had won, her expression cleared.  She smirked - he’d never know what happened.

 

“Do you think Uther’s a good head?”

“Sorry?”  Gaius stared at Merlin across the break room, wondering what on earth prompted such a question.  His nephew looked up, playing distractedly with a pen.

“Uther.  Do you think he’s good for the country?”

Gaius looked nervously around the room; Merlin saw him and hurried to reassure him.  There’d be no security footage for the next twenty minutes.

“Yes,” he said honestly, “yes, I do.  After recent events, you may find that hard to believe.”

Merlin stared at him, “hard?  No.  Impossible?  Definitely.”

“Merlin…” Gaius sighed.

“Everyone hates him.  They’re terrified of him.”

“It’s not Uther’s job to be like.  It is his job to protect the country.  His methods may be flawed, but-”

“Flawed?  He kills everyone he even suspects of sorcery!”

“Yes,” Gaius acquiesced, “but despite his failings, he has brought peace.  He extinguished the Uprising.”

“But at what cost?  At the cost of women and children, mothers and fathers and sons and daughters!  When will it end?”  Merlin ran a hand through his hair, trying to soothe his troubled thoughts.

“It will end when Arthur is head,” Gaius said simply.

“Then why not now?  Why not let Arthur be head?”  There was an idea - Arthur was already accepting of Merlin’s magic (or, rather, more accepting than he had been), and he could be taught to accept others’, too.

“Arthur’s not ready.  The responsibility would be too great.  Brave though he may be, he lacks experience, he lacks judgment.  Is there anything you want to tell me?”

Merlin looked down.  He could tell him everything, let his uncle work out how to fix this mess.  But then Morgana would be in danger.  And it was clear that Gaius wouldn’t let things simply run their course, even if it turned out to be the correct course (but if it didn’t, and Merlin did the wrong thing…)  “I can’t… I just…” he sighed, “no.  I can’t.  You’ve just got to trust me, Gaius.  This is something I have to work out for myself.”

“I do trust you, Merlin.  Whatever it is, I know you’ll make the right decision.”

Gods, why did Gaius trust him - Merlin didn’t have a clue what decision was right?

 

The Pendragon household was strained.  Arthur spent most of his time out and, even at this late hour, he was still at Camelot, riddling training dummies with bullets.  Morgana and Uther, however, were at home, stubborn silence enveloping them, waiting for one of them to break.

“Morgana?”

She paused in typing without looking at him, her small smirk reflected on the screen of her laptop for those who cared to look.

“I hope I’m not disturbing.”

“Not at all,” she said composedly, finally looking at him.

“These are… difficult times.  They put a strain on us all.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I cannot tell you how much pain it causes me to be at odds with you.”

Morgana kept her happiness carefully hidden, “and I with you.”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Uther confessed, looking to the carpeted floor with unusual uncertainty, “and, er, I realise I may have been insensitive.  I should have foreseen the distress that your secretary’s loss would cause you, that it would stir old memories.  I’ve opened an old wound.  For that, I’m sorry.”

She could have laughed.  Of course  _ that _ was what he apologised for.  Not for the legalised murder of yet another innocent.  Still, she couldn’t voice those thoughts.  Not yet.  “I cannot say how happy I am to hear those words,” she said with a false smile, “I too wish to heal these wounds.”  She took a quiet breath, “we should visit my father’s grave together.  Put the past behind us.”

Uther smiled, relieved, “nothing would give me greater joy.”

“Shall we leave tomorrow?”

“I will make arrangements,” Uther declared, already planning the time off and security measures.

Morgana grinned at him until he left before pulling out her phone.

 

“So, Morgana,” came Tauren’s voice over the line, “what news?”

“Uther has fallen for the bait as I knew he would.  We’ll be at Old Cairn cemetery.”

“Are you sure you’re committed?” he asked doubtfully.  More than anything, he knew better than to trust a traitor.

“More than anything,” she snarled, “I want him dead.  As much as you, as much as  _ anyone  _ in this cesspool of a country that he rules.”

“Then the deed is as good as done,” Tauren said, his smile almost audible.

_ Merlin sighed to himself as he pulled off his headphones.  He’d spent a long hour debating whether he should have tapped Morgana’s phone - apparently it was the right choice.  He groaned, resting his forehead on the desk - what in hell was he supposed to do now?  If he foiled the plot he was putting the life of Uther Pendragon above his people’s.  If he let him die, he was no better than a murderer.  And what of Arthur?  This was his father!  What would he say to Arthur? _

 

Merlin watched Uther and Morgana leave through the window, accompanied by their guard - Uther couldn’t go anywhere without his men, lest an assassin strike ( _ like it would today _ ).  He rubbed a hand over his face with a small groan.

“Merlin?”

He looked over to the source of the question with a jolt.  “Gwen.  How are you doing?”

“I was about to ask you the same question,” she said with a small smile.

“I’m fine,” he lied, far too easily for his liking, “fine.”

Gwen - with the wisdom he loved her for - didn’t pry.  Instead, she walked over and joined him by the window, “Morgana’s been amazing these last few days.”

“I think you’ve been amazing,” he said honestly.  “After all that’s happened, getting your life back together…”  She was so much better at this than he’d been.

“It’s better than sitting in an empty house, waiting for my father to walk through the door,” she sighed.  Merlin nodded in understanding; he knew the feeling.  “The thing I find hardest to bear is that people will always think he was guilty because he tried to escape.”

“I know he was innocent.”

“I think…” she tugged a little on the edge of her white blouse, “I think he tried to escape because he knew, whatever he did, whatever he said, he’d be killed.  Uther had already made his mind up.  That’s the kind of man he is.”  The bitterness in her voice seemed foreign; Merlin realised suddenly that he’d never known Gwen to be angry (unless you counted the time Gwaine had… what had he done again?  It’d been at that Hallowe’en party… gods, no wonder he couldn’t remember.  Never mind - it had been bad).  

“I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted him dead,” he said softly, slightly ashamed of the fact he was using her to solve his dilemma without her even knowing.

“If Uther was to die today, I would feel nothing.  He means nothing to me.”

_ If she only knew how easily that could happen… _

“But if you had… you know.  If you had the choice, what would you do?  If you had the power of life and death over Uther,”  _ like me and Morgana have ended up with _ , “what would you do?  Would you kill him?  For what he did?”

“No!” she yelled, horrified.

“No?”

“What would that solve?  That would make me a murderer.  That’d make me as bad as him.”

“You’re right,” he said, “of course you’re right.”  Oh gods, what was he doing?  Letting a man die - what was he turning into?  He ran.

“Is anything wrong?”

“No, no!”   _ Yes, so much.   _ “See you later!”

 

And he most definitely hadn’t brought Sophia Tír-Mòr’s staff to work that day because he’d suspected, deep down, that a rescue mission might have been required.

 

Morgana looked upon the graveyard, the weight of the hidden sorcerers’ waiting eyes upon her.  She turned to the guards, “do you think we could have some privacy?”

“Fine.  Wait here,” Uther told them, “we’re in no danger.”

_ How wrong you are, Uther Pendragon. _

“Sir,” they nodded.

 

_ Merlin ran through the woods, clutching his staff in a white-knuckled grip.  He came to the gates and found the guards dead, blood pooling around them on the grass.  He took a moment to mourn - he knew a few of them from going to the pub with Arthur, and they were nice - before looking around.  They renegades were pursuing the Pendragons.  He swore and set off, tailing them unseen. _

 

Morgana knelt at Goloris’ grave, “father.”

Uther stood beside her, a surprisingly gentle hand on the top of her head, stroking her hair comfortingly.

 

_ Merlin watched the renegades swarming and raised the staff. _

_ “Ácwele,” he whispered.  A bolt of energy as bright as his eyes flew out and struck one of the renegades - he fell to the ground with a dull thump.  Dead.  Another drew their pistol and met the same fate. _

 

“Your father,” said Uther gruffly, “was the greatest an I’ve ever known.”

Morgana looked up, stunned.  It was rare indeed that Uther could be persuaded to talk of those who’d passed on.  She could count on one hand the times that he had told her of Galoris.

“He stood for everything that Camelot… that Britain represents.  Truth.  Justice.  Valour.  A hundred times he saved my life in the field, and many others besides.  His courage and his honour were without equal.”  He sounded rather choked as he knelt, patting the cold stone, “when he died, I lost the truest friend I ever had.  He was as fearless in questioning my orders as he was in defending the country.  That is the mark of a true friend.”

Morgana swallowed, “I know how he respected you.  But I don’t share these memories.  How can I?  I was so young… I only know that I loved him and he was taken from me.”  She didn’t remember being told what had happened, only the wretched sobs that had wracked her as she prepared to go to Uncle Uther and Aunty Ygraine (who died before she even arrived).

“When he died and I took you into my care,” Uther said with a reminiscent smile, “you fought me from the beginning.”  He looked at her, something that - if it was anyone else - one might call…  _ love  _ sparkling in his eyes, “you have a will as strong as my own.  You’re so much like Galoris, always ready to challenge me as a friend should.  As he did in his time.”

“And yet,” she said acidly, “when I do, you clap me in handcuffs.”

He looked down, “I know I’m not an easy man.  I have a temper.  It gets away from me sometimes, and I make mistakes.  Gwen’s father…”

“You mean,” her blood ran cold, “you regret Tom’s death?”

He nodded, “yes.”

 

_ Merlin snuck up behind Tauren - the man heard him and turned, pulling out the Mage Stone.  Merlin gasped slightly at the influx of power before aiming the staff, “ácwele!” _

_ Tauren’s stone absorbed the energy as if it had never been there, sending it back in a bolt of power and pain.  Merlin had only a moment to look petrified before he was knocked backwards and knocked unconscious. _

 

“I will strive to listen to you more and quarrel with you less,” Uther vowed.  “You’ve been a blessing to me, Morgana.  You are the daughter I never had.  Your counsel is invaluable, as is your friendship and your love.  Without you, I cannot hope to be the head this country deserves.”

“Sir,” she gasped, unsure how to reply.

“Please forgive me, Morgana.”

She stared at him, searching for words, only to see Tauren sneaking behind Uther with a gun.

“No!  NO!”

 

Uther, though older now, was still a warrior, as he had been in his youth.  He wrestled the gun from Tauren’s hands and it ended flung across the ground, out of reach.  Still, Tauren was younger and more practised, and he pinned him down and drew an ornate dagger.

“Die, Uther Pendragon!”

 

_ Merlin woke groggily and dragged himself upright.  He ran to aim, only to see… _

 

Morgana took her pistol from its holster and shot Tauren in the back of his neck.  Uther pushed the corpse away and took his shivering adopted daughter in his arms as she dropped her weapon.

 

_ He watched the scene with relief, leaning heavily on the staff as he blew out a pained breath, before starting on his way home. _

 

“Ah,” Gaius looked at his bruised nephew as he came through the door that day, staff hastily hidden, “busy day?”

Merlin looked at him wearily, “had its moments.”

“I heard that Tauren tried to assassinate Uther.”

Gods, news travelled fast.  “That’s what I hear.”

“And that Morgana saved him.  How many men were there?  Three?  Four?”

“Yeah,” Merlin said nonchalantly, “something like that.”

“Morgana must have shown extraordinary courage to have defended him against such odds.”  He raised an eyebrow, peering at Merlin, “I suppose you had nothing to do with it?”

“Oh, you know,” he shrugged, “just background stuff.”

“No need to be modest, Merlin.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s not a criticism.  It’s a compliment.”

“Right,” Merlin smiled, “thanks, Gaius.”

 

But whatever came out of his mouth, Merlin’s mind was churning away unpleasantly.  She might have changed her mind in the end, but Morgana had still sought to kill Uther.  She had still come so very close to being assassination.  And Merlin had come far too close to letting her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It's my birthday, so its a double update day! Enjoy!


	12. Chapter 11 - Operation Sacrifice

“Merlin, report.”

“Erm,” Merlin searched through various windows and tabs for the camera he was looking for; the one centred on the location where locals had reported inexplicable disappearances.  Arthur soon grew impatient.

“Do you have _any_ natural gifts, Merlin?”

“No.  Well, let me think,” he paused, finding the screen, “I’m not naturally rude or insensitive.”

He heard the knights who he’d forgotten were sharing the comms chuckle as Arthur said darkly, “no, just naturally irritating.”

“Well, I have your report.  There’s nothing there right now, no signs of anything having been there.”  Growling sounded faintly in his ear, “what was that?”

“I’m sure it was nothing,” Arthur said soothingly.  The last thing they needed was a scared Merlin in their ears - he’d either ramble for England or clam up so much that he couldn’t even tell them if the sky was blue.

 

Nothing, as Merlin saw on his camera, turned out to be a huge beast with a reptilian face, huge fangs, and muscles rippling in its furred body as it leapt at them.  There were yells and curses as they ran, tripping and being hauled up, Merlin trying to tell them the beast’s position but being barely heard over their fear.

“You’ve lost it,” he was finally heard to say, a note of relief in his shaky voice.

“Who’s missing?” Arthur asked immediately.

Merlin looked through cameras, zooming in and searching, before asking nervously, “where’s Agent Bedivere?

His scream echoed in their ears.

 

“The creature you describe,” Gaius told Uther, Merlin, Arthur and the knights as they stood assembled in the assembly hall, “has all the characteristics of a Questing Beast.”

“Surely that’s a myth,” Arthur said, recognising the name vaguely, though he was not sure where from.

“According to the old books, the Questing Beast’s appearance is supposed to foreshadow a time of great upheaval.”

“Gaius, it’s an old wives’ tale,” Uther insisted, the knights nodding along with him.  Arthur seemed less than certain, Merlin could see, and Merlin himself knew better than to doubt Gaius’ research.

“Look,” Arthur said finally, “whatever it is, it’s spreading panic.  The people fear that  it will leave the forest and come into the city.”

“Then we must kill it.  You leave at dawn.”

“Sir, I beg you, do not dismiss this.  The beast is an omen.  I’ve seen it come before, the night before Ygraine passed away.”

“I’ve told you not to speak of that night again,” Uthr hissed, as his son and men bowed their heads, “I have conquered the Old Religion.  It’s warnings mean nothing to me now.  Arthur will destroy the beast, and we will no longer suffer at its hand.”

“I’m coming with you,” Merlin told Arthur as they left the room, silencing his arguments to the contrary with a whispered, “you might need my talents.”

 

“This is no ordinary beast, Merlin,” Gaius warned him in the medical room, packing him poultices for the next day’s hunt.  Merlin sighed - he _knew_ he was going to say that.  When was it ever ordinary?

“Don’t worry,” he said casually.  He and Arthur had experience with magical nuisances - what was one more to the list?

“No, listen to me,” his mentor placed down his work and stood in front of him, forcing him to pay attention, “you don’t understand.  Uther may not respect the Old Religion, but you and I know that it is very real.”

Merlin nodded - Freya had spent many hours teaching him of the Old Religion and its ways, though he avoided thinking of it now.

“To face such a beast as this,” Gaius continued, “you must understand where it came from.”

“What do you mean?”

“At the heart of the Old Religion lies-”

“The power of life and death,” Merlin jumped in, wanting Gaius to hurry to the point.  His mentor huffed at his impatience.

“The Questing Beast carries that power.  One bite, you die.  And there is no cure.”

 

*

An old man flung fire at Merlin, screaming in anger.

_Who is he?  What’s happening now?_

 

“No!”  Merlin yelled, anguished.

_What’s going on?_

 

Arthur and Merlin charged through the forest, panting heavily in their exertion.

 

Arthur was deathly pale in a medical bed.

(Morgana moaned softly, pained.)

 

The Questing Beast roared.

 

_What’s happening?_

*

 

“Morgana?”  The day of the Questing Beast’s reckoning had arrived, and Gwen walked into her boss’ office to find her slumped over he desk in a dead faint, flailing in another nightmare, “Morgana!  Wake up!”

She ran over and, wrapping the thrashing woman in her steady arms, hushed her until she woke, murmuring into her hair, “it’s me, it’s Gwen, wake up, it’s only a dream.  It’s only a dream.”

Morgana’s eyes shot open with a shuddering gasp.  “It was terrifying,” she whispered, leaning into her friend’s warm comfort.

“Oh,” Gwen sighed, “it’s going to be alright.”

 

Merlin looked to Arthur as he spoke to his men.

“You’ve seen the foe we face,” he said calmly.  “It’s a creature of nightmare, but you are the best agents in the agency, in the country.  We can - and we will - kill it before it harms another citizen of our country.”  He raised his fist in salute, “for the love of Camelot!”

“For the love of Camelot!” the men echoed, raising their own salute.

“Arthur!”  Morgana burst in, makeup streaked by tears, a hysterical note in her voice.

“Morgana?  What are you doing here?”

“You cannot face this!”  She wept, trying to grab him, force him to stay with her.  He grappled with her, holding her at arm’s length.

“Morgana, go back to work.  There is nothing to be afraid of.”

“Please Arthur,” she breathed, “I have seen such terrible things!  You cannot go!”

Merlin hissed in a breath, stepping forward, “have you had a nightmare, Morgana?  I’ll take you to Gaius.”

“No!”  Morgana yelled, her voice ragged as Merlin disentangled her from Arthur, “I will not let you go!”

“Please, Merlin, make sure she’s looked after,” Arthur said, looking worriedly at his sister in all but blood.

“No!”

 

Merlin walked Morgana outside the room, placing his hands on her shoulders and looking her dead in her wide, fear-filled eyes, “Morgana, I will protect him.”

“I’ve seen such terrible things Merlin,” she said, a sob breaking through as she shook, trying in vain to control her breathing through blind panic, “and I know you see no truth in my dreams, but-”

“Morgana,” he said, “I believe you.  I believe every word you say.”

“What?”

“I believe you, Morgana.”

The confusion gave way to fresh vigour in her protests, “then you see why Arthur must not go!”

“Neither of us could stop him if we tried,” he said with a slight, bitter chuckle.  “But you have my word; I will die before I let harm come to Arthur.  The Questing Beast will not kill him.”  Morgana heaved in a juddering breath, her every muscle twitching with adrenaline, and Merlin watched her concernedly, wrapping her in a tight hug before telling her, “go to Gwen.”

Thank the gods; she did as told for once in her life.

 

Twitching nervously at every sound, Merlin followed close to Arthur’s side through the forest.  The chilling wind sought near constantly to deter them from their perilous mission, freezing them as they tramped through, searching with the knights for the Questing Beast.

Of course, it was Arthur who found the gigantic paw print, twice the size of any Merlin had ever seen, and called out, “let’s follow the trail.”

Growls and the soft sound of footsteps grew louder as they approached.

“Keep close,” Arthur ordered.  It shouldn’t have been that hard a suggestion to follow.

 

Wandering into a cave - the beast’s lair - Merlin and Arthur ended up split from the others.  They exchanged a nervous look and carried on.  Merlin hesitated at the sound of snake-like hissing.

“What was that?”

“Shh!”

 

The Questing Beast was quiet when it wished to be.  It snuck behind them and sprung, the agility of a cat launching its vicious body towards them.  Arthur drew his gun and Merlin summoned his magic, only to be shoved to the side by the noble prat.  He stumbled to the floor, gasping at the impact, as Arthur’s gunshots echoed and failed to reach their target.  The beast swiped at Arthur, knocking him to the side in one effortless blow - Arthur crumpled against the wall, four gashes in his chest from the lethal claws.  Merlin heaved himself up, catching his breath and lighting a fire in his palm.

“Hey!” he yelled, grabbing the creature’s attention away from Arthur, “hey!  Fléoge!  Bregdan anwiele gefeluc!”

His magic grasped the spent bullets and thrust them deep into the creature, piercing its flank and neck and heart; he sighed in relief as it collapsed, the murderous glint in its eyes forever extinguished.

 

Merlin ran to Arthur, still leaning against the wall, trembling and pale.  Kneeling by his side and shaking him hard, Merlin told him, “it didn’t bite you.  It didn’t.”  It couldn’t have.  It mustn’t have.

His shivering hand came away bloody.

“Arthur?”

It had.

“Somebody help me!”

 

Merlin ran ahead of Arthur on his stretcher, preparing him a bed as tears trailed down his pale cheeks, his friend’s blood still under his nails.  Gaius came to meet them as the knights placed him on the pristine white sheets, before rushing out to fetch Uther.

“What happened?”  Gaius looked at Arthur’s wounds as Merlin smothered a sob with his hand, shaking his head, unable to answer.  “He’s been bitten,” Gaius confirmed.

“I tried to save him,” Merlin managed to say, thinking of his stupid, stupidly brave prat of a friend leaping to rescue him, even when he knew that Merlin had magic to protect himself with.

“You must tell Uther.”

“The men have gone already.”  He looked at Arthur’s pale face, “there must be something you can do.”

“I’ll find a cure,” Merlin said grimly, wiping his tears harshly away, his mouth set in a determined line.

“Merlin!”

The warlock ran to his bag.

 

“Can you hear me, sir?”  Gaius asked fretfully, looking for any movement, any recognition.  He was disappointed but unsurprised.

“Here.”  Merlin reappeared, flicking through his magic book.

“Uther will be here any moment!”

“He can’t die,” the warlock said, “it’s my destiny to protect him.  I promised Morgana.  And we haven’t done all the things we’re meant to do!”

“That is the lament of all men,” his uncle said, looking older and wearier than Merlin had ever seen him.

“Gaius, he’s my friend.”  He was more than that; Arthur was _everything_.

“Then save him.”

 

Magic flicked through the pages, landing upon a healing spell.

“Gestathole.”

Nothing.

Merlin scanned through spells with frantic golden eyes.

“Thurhhaele.”

Nothing.

 

“Maybe the spells need time,” he said desperately.

“The bite of the Questing Beast is a death sentence no magic can overturn.”

How was he so calm?  How?

 

Uther Pendragon was not calm.  “Where is he?  Where is Arthur?”  When he strode in, wild eyes belying his calm exterior, his gaze fell upon his fallen son and he breathed his name in a way that was… human.

Until that moment, Merlin had been certain he’d never feel sympathy for the senior Pendragon.  In that moment, as he magicked his book closed, he knew he couldn’t not pity a broken man.

“Do something, Gaius!” the head of Camelot demanded, a far cry from the heartless persona he projected.

“I am trying, sir.”

“Gaius will find a cure,” Merlin found himself saying, reassuring himself and Uther both, “he will not let him die.”

“I will do all in my power,” the man corrected.

 

It took four men to bear Uther out as he collapsed to his knees in grief, weeping openly in a way he never had before and never would again.  Morgana stumbled into the waiting arms of Guinevere as the news was brought to her, a choked cry rising from her throat as her nightmare came true.

 

Mr Kilgharrah seemed to be expecting when Merlin burst in, gasping for air from his run.

“I have failed Arthur, I have failed in my destiny.”

“And yet,” said the old man, “you would not be here if that was true.”

“He was bitten by the Questing Beast,” Merlin said confusedly, “he’s going to die.”

“Does he still breathe?”

He thought back to his friend lying so very still on the bed, his eyes fluttering, his skin flushed and sticky, but with his chest still moving, “only just.”

“Then there is still time to heal him.”

“I’ve tried.  I can’t heal him.  I can’t save him.”

“You do not know how to save him,” he corrected.

“But you can tell me?”  Hope blossomed in Merlin’s heart for the first time all day, mixed with no small amount of disbelief.  He had to be cautious; Gaius had said that _nothing_ could cure him, and he’d rarely known his uncle to be wrong.

“Perhaps.  It will not be easy.”

“I will do anything.”

His neighbour raised an eyebrow, “anything?”

Merlin paused; yes, anything.  He’d already lied for him, killed for him, loved him (what?  Was that really what it was?  Gods, he was screwed), and he was more than willing to die for him.  It was terrifying how far he’d be willing to go.  “Please,” he begged, “just tell me what I have to do!”

 

Mr Kilgharrah smiled, “very well.  The Questing Beast is conjured by the Old Religion, and you must harness the same ancient powers to cure its bite.”

“The Old Religion’s power was lost centuries ago.  Millennia ago,” Merlin protested, “even the druids who worship it don’t wield it.”

“The Old Religion is the magic of the earth itself, that which binds the world together,” his neighbour said patiently, using the voice of a lecturer as he had when Merlin was still in college, just after Freya, begging for spells and powers that Gaius would not grant him.  “It long preceded man, and it will long outlast man’s time.”

“But how can that help me save Arthur?”

“You must find those who still serve it.  Those who hold dominion over life and death.”

“Where?” he breathed, pointedly not thinking of the great power it must take to control the only two certainties in all of life.

“Go to the place that men call the Isle of the Blessed, where the power of the ancients can still be felt.  There you will discover Arthur’s salvation.”

“Thank you.  Thank you,” he turned to leave.

“And Merlin,” the warlock turned back to Mr Kilgharrah as he spoke, “the young Pendragon must live, no matter the cost.”

Merlin nodded, sure that he understood.  It hardly mattered; he’d never expected to live long, and it was better to die in the service of the young Pendragon than at the command of the elder.  He was only sorry that he hadn’t yet freed the Great Dragon, and he said so.

“Worry not, young warlock,” Kilgharrah smiled, “what is destined to happen will always find a way.”

 

Gaius welcomed Merlin back, pushing a list of drugs into his hands; “you must fetch these for Arthur to ease his passing.”

“No.  We have to _save_ him,” Merlin insisted, grabbing his bag.

“You’ve already tried,” said Gaius worriedly.  He remembered what had happened the last time Merlin had lost someone so close to him.

*

_“Merlin?”  Gaius’ pursed his lips at the silence from behind his nephew’s door.  “Merlin, you must eat something.”_

_There was movement in the depths of Merlin’s room and his dishevelled form soon appeared at the door, bloodshot eyes and unwashed clothes, “‘m not hungry.”_

_Gaius sighed as the door shut in his face, opening it an inch to slip the plate of food inside.  He hadn’t been able to coax him out since Freya’s disappearance - which he and Merlin both knew meant death… execution - and he worried desperately.  Neither Gwen nor Gwaine had been able to get a word out of him._

_In fact, the only one who had was their neighbour.  Mr Kilgharrah, who distracted him with magic far too powerful for his young age, which he could somehow manage anyway.  Gaius scowled at the thought; Kilgharrah had told him who (what) he was long ago, and he’d fought to keep his claws off of Merlin._

_Because that man’s ramblings about destiny and fate could only end badly._

*

Merlin waved him away, relaying his knowledge, “the beast comes from the Old Religion.  So must the cure.”

“There are few remaining with that gift.”  Gaius certainly didn’t know any.

“You said it yourself, the Old Religion is alive.  There’s an island, beyond the White Mountains-”

“No!”  Curse that dragon.

“The Isle of the Blessed…” Merlin looked accusingly at his uncle, “you know it?”

“It was said to be the centre of the Old Religion, the focus of its power.”

“Why’d you keep it from me?” his nephew asked with betrayal in his voice and his eyes, making Gaius look away.

“Because it was too dangerous, Merlin.”

“It’s our only chance!  I have to find it!”

“And once you are there,” Gaius snapped, “what will you ask?”

“For Arthur to be saved.”

“The Questing Beast chose Arthur.  That means that the Old Religion has chosen his fate.”

“Then I will convince them to change their minds!”

“It’s not that simple!”  Gaius yelled, “the High Priests have the ability to mirror life and death, but there is always a price.  They will demand a life in return.  Please, Merlin, I beg you...”

Merlin looked away, unable to face unshed tears in his uncle’s eyes.  He gazed instead at Arthur and reminded himself of his destiny, of the fact that this was the only way to save Arthur… that life without Arthur, after going so well before him, was now unimaginable.  “I’m sorry Gaius,” he said, “but whatever the price is, I will pay it willingly.”  This was his destiny; to die in the service of his Once and Future King.  (Wait.  His _what_ ?  He waved the thought away.  He was dying in the service of Arthur, his friend, the one who would unite the magic and the mundane.   _Not_ a king.)

 

_From:_ _Merlin_

_Don’t give up hope yet._   
_Arthur still lives, and I think_   
_I can save him.  I promised,_ _  
_ and I will stick to it.

 

_From:_ _Morgana_

_Thank you._

 

Merlin took one last look behind him at Camelot, taking in the ordinary facade that masked it’s true purpose (although, of course, it was true that Camelot was more like Britain’s worst kept secret, the perpetual elephant in the room).  It was strange to think that he might never step foot in there again; he wondered whether they’d survive the magical attacks that he and Gaius would usually thwart.  Probably they would - they’d managed without him for twenty years.

And speaking of Gaius…

“Here,” his uncle said, stopping him and pressing a roll of parchment into his hands, “you’ll need a map.  And,” he added, handing him a tiny package wrapped in brown paper and yellowing string, “I’m going to give you this.  My mother gave it to me.”

Merlin swallowed past the lump in his throat as he unwrapped it, peering at it with burning eyes.

“It’s a rabbit’s foot,” Gaius explained.

“To keep you safe,” he said quietly, fingering the white fur.

“It was said to protect you from evil spirits.” Gaius explained, before adding hurriedly, “it’s rubbish.  I don’t believe in superstition.  I don’t know why I gave it to you.”  He reached to take it, but Merlin stopped him.

“No, I want it.”  It was rather comforting to have.  “Thank you.”  He managed a weak smile before sighing, “you’ve got to keep Arthur alive until I return.”

 

Merlin travelled hard, without rest, thinking of Kilgharrah’s instructions: “you must travel to the place that men call the Isle of the Blessed.  Beyond the White Mountains, through the Valley of the Fallen Kings.  To the north of the great seas of Marador, you will find a lake.”

_Uther sat by his son as he stirred in his feverish sleep.  He brushed his blond hair from his forehead, “shh.  Sleep, Arthur.”_

He followed Gaius’ map, thankful to his mentor for providing it, sleeping at night with the rabbit’s foot in his hand.

_“You’re not going to die, Arthur.  I’m telling you,” Gwen whispered as she sponged the sweat from his head, voice low to avoid waking the exhausted Gaius, “Because I know that one day you will be head.  A greater head than your father could ever be.  It’s what keeps me going.  You are going to live to be the man I’ve seen inside you, Arthur.  I can see a Camelot that is fair and just.  I can see a man that the people will love and be proud to call their protector.  For the love of Camelot, for the sake of Britain, you have to live.”_

Merlin saw the island, from a distance, approaching the lake and stepping into a small wooden boat.

“Astyre.”

He was propelled across the calm waters.

_Uther watched out of the window as the people of Camelot stood with their candles, holding vigil.  He refused Gaius’ offer of… anything._

_“They’ve already begun to say goodbye,” he said instead, turning away from the sight._

_“He’s not gone yet, sir.”_

_“But he will not recover.”  It wasn’t a question._

_“Not without a miracle,” Gaius conceded._

_Uther thought of his wife, and what they had falsely heralded as such a thing - magic, that could give them what they desired most.  “I don’t believe in miracles.”_

 

“Hello?”  Merlin stepped out of the boat and looked around.  A great stone fortress reached up to the sky, surrounding him, ivy growing in the copious gaps.

“Hello, Merlin.”

He whirled around, “you.”

“Do you know who I am?”

He glared at her.  Her.  Cara… not-Cara.  It had to be her; those were the eyes, the lips, the smile that had entranced him so, clad in a torn, blood red dress, her dark hair braided and cascading down the back of her neck, but there was a cruelty at the edge of her expression, marring what he’d once thought was beautiful.  “Nimueh.”  He looked at her coldly, “you can’t be who Kilgharrah meant.”

“And why is that?”

He looked at her, deadpan, “you tried to kill me.”

“Before I understood your importance.”

“And Arthur.”

“Arthur was never destined to die at my hand,” she said blithely, “and now it seems I shall be his salvation.”

“So you know what I’ve come to ask?”  He wasn’t surprised.  Perhaps she was a seer, like Morgana, or perhaps she held too many prophecies in her head, loving to bring them out and confuse people, like the Great Dragon.

“Yes.”

“Will you do it?”

 

Nimueh paused, considering her options.  “I do not hold the power to give life with nothing in return.”

Merlin nodded in understanding, bowing his head, “I know that a price will be asked.  I willingly give my life for Arthur’s, t-to… to...” he swallowed.  He hadn’t realised how hard it would be, not when he was willing.  “To restore the balance of the world.”

“How brave you are, Merlin,” she said, sneering at him.  “If only it were that simple.”

“What do you mean?”

“Once you strike this bargain, it cannot be undone.”

Good.  He did not want it to.  And if there was a possibility… he wasn’t sure his courage would hold.  “Whatever I have to do,” he told her (and himself), “I will do it.  His life is worth a hundred of mine.”

“The Cup of Life,” she announced, holding out a silver goblet, “blessed by centuries of powerful sorcerers so that it contains the very secret of life itself.”

Merlin did not doubt; pure, intoxicating power rolled off the artefact in waves, overwhelming his senses.

“If Arthur drinks water from the Cup, he will live.”

He took it when it was held out to him, keeping it at arm’s length.

 

_Tídrénas._

The rain poured over him, but only for a moment.  Only until the Cup was full.  Then Nimueh took it back and, as Merlin watched her warily (he did not trust her not to add poison to the water), poured it into a decorative canteen.

“The bargain is struck.”  She held the canteen out to him, lifting it away as he reached for it, buying enough time for her red lips to split into a smirk, “I hope it pleases you.”

 

He slept that night by the water’s edge, and as dawn broke it was to see him already on his way home.

 

“Merlin!”

The warlock did not pause to smile at his uncle as he arrived back in Camelot, pressing the cure he had paid for into his unwilling hands with an urgent, “we have to get this to Arthur.”

“What is it?”

“Water drawn from the Cup of Life,” he confessed, “if Arthur drinks it, he will live.”  Gaius froze, horrified, and Merlin stared back at him, “what are you waiting for?  We have to get it to him!”

“What did you bargain?” came his hoarse voice, “whose life did you promise?  What price have you paid?”

Nothing more than he had wanted to.  Still, he did not dare tell Gaius the truth; what if he refused to give Arthur the cure?  “We don’t have time-”

“Merlin!”

“Don’t worry, Gaius!” he was harsher than he’d meant to be - fear, despite everything, was tugging most insistently at his chest, tightening it until he struggled to breathe - and he flashed an apologetic smile that did nothing to allay Gaius’ obvious nerves, “everything’s going to be alright.”

 

And that wasn’t a lie, he insisted to himself as he rushed through Camelot’s halls with Gaius, scarf whipping behind him, because Arthur would be cured, and that was all that really mattered, wasn’t it?  Any doubts swiftly left his mind as he set eyes on Arthur, feverish and groaning slightly on his bed.  He went over - ran over, in an urgent way that Arthur would have teased him for - and wet the cooling cloth on his forehead; “it’ll be ok, Arthur, I promise.  Everything’s going to be fine.”

Gaius opened the Prince’s mouth to tip in the water, Merlin still murmuring inaudible comforts, as Uther walked in.

“What are you doing?  What are you giving him?”

“It’s a…  It’s a tincture made from the lobelia plant, an ancient remedy for poisonous bites.” Gaius lied swiftly.

“A cure?”

“We hope,” the physician said as Merlin nodded behind him.

“Do you really think it will have some effect?”

“It’s our last resort, sir,” Gaius said quietly, “perhaps you should leave him to rest.”

“I am not leaving his side.”

The pair nodded and left - Merlin with some obvious reluctance - as Uther sat down at Arthur’s bedside.

 

_From:_ _Morgana_

_Please, Merlin, be careful._ _  
_ _This is only the beginning._

 

Arthur woke slowly, the fuzzy world refusing to focus as his waking father whispered his name.  He raised his head to look around but, finding it too heavy, placed it back on the welcoming pillow.

When he awoke again, later in the day when the world was back in sharp clarity, he was greeted by his father sporting bloodshot eyes.

“I thought we’d lost you.”

“Don’t worry, father, I’m not going to die.”  He thought of Gaius’ wisdom, and of his grim announcement that the creature’s bite was fatal.  Clearly, it was no ordinary medicine that had brought him back.  His mind flew instantly to Merlin, and he allowed himself a gentle smile, “I think there’s someone looking out for me, keeping me from harm.”

“That’s good,” Uther said, though he’d probably think otherwise if he knew what Arthur really suspected; that his handler had, once again, used his own unique ‘talents’ to go above and beyond the call of duty, though by all rights he should hate the Pendragons for what they had done to his people.  “On your long journey to be head, you will need a guardian angel.  Now, rest.  I must inform the people that you live.”

 

As his father left, he placed his head back, letting his eyes drift closed - he was so sleepy, one wouldn’t believe that he’d spent however long in near constant unconsciousness.  Still, he mustered the energy to rouse himself and look at Gwen as she entered, a relieved smile breaking through as she looked at him.

“I knew it.  I knew you’d be ok,” she said, coming to sit by his side.  A flash of recognition sparked in his mind.

“I can remember you talking to me.”

“You can?”

“You stroked my forehead,” he said.  He’d never had someone do that to him before; it was the sort of thing mothers did, that Ygraine Pendragon would have done.

“I was tending your fever,” Gwen said, embarrassed.

“You never lost faith.”

“I was just talking.”

He smirked, “tell me again what you said?”

“I can’t remember, sir.”

“Yes you can,” he insisted, an amused smile blossoming.  “Come on, something about ‘the man I am inside’.”

“No, I never said that,” she said, her cheeks pinking.

“Guinevere…”

“I have to go,” she said, rising hurriedly, “work to do.”

Arthur laughed as she fled his presence, “say hello to Lance from me!”

 

Hearing that Arthur was alive, Merlin thought as he sat on the edge of the bed, watching the lightning strikes illuminating his room, was the most bittersweet joy he’d ever known.  It was what he’d hoped for, of course, even if he’d only dared to go visit once and then only peeped in, near tears (he’d probably have spilt all if he’d gone in).  But it was still less than pleasant watching the night pass him, waiting for the cold chill he imagined would grip his heart as the spectre of death appeared at his shoulder.

_A diseased hand trembled as it knocked on Gaius’ door._

He wondered idly what fate awaited him; would it be swift, fast enough that he didn’t know?  Or would it be drawn out, extracting a full and painful price for Arthur’s life?

_Morgana screamed, bolting awake._

What would his mother do?  It hit him only now, as the orange tendrils of morning’s approaching light painted the sky, that he hadn’t said goodbye.  Perhaps he should write a note.  It didn’t seem right though; nothing he wanted to say could be expressed in words.  He suppressed a sob, realising that all he wanted now, as he waited for death, was one last hug from his mum.  It was impossible.  He choked down his tears and lay down - hoping for things he could not have wasn’t going to help him.

 

He must have dozed off, he realised as he opened his eyes to hear the bird’s morning serenade.  Then he realised something more important; _he had opened his eyes._

“Gaius!” he yelled, running out of his room, “I’m alive!”

Had he escaped the bargain?  Had fate decided that Arthur was too important to steal away _without_ his interference?

 

He stopped dead as he saw Gaius crouching by the door.

“What is it?” he said, the pit of his stomach dropping.  “What’s wrong?”

“Merlin, stay there!”

“What’s wrong?”  He walked forward.

“No don’t!”

 

There was a person there, lying on the floor gasping for breath, the little air they could muster rattling in their chest.  Every exposed part of their skin was covered in weeping sores, and it was clear that they covered their whole body.  It was when he saw their face that Merlin’s breath caught in his throat.

“Mother!”

Hunith stirred at the sound of his voice, “Merlin.”

“What’s happened to her?”  He had a horrible nauseous feeling that he might already know.

“She’s gravely ill.”

“Do something!” he begged.

“If I could.”

“Please!”  This wasn’t the deal he made.  This wasn’t what was meant to happen.  “Please, Gaius, you have to.”

“This is no ordinary illness,” he said, confirming what Merlin thought, “who did you meet on the Isle of the Blessed?”

“Nimueh.”

“Nimueh!”

“It was as you said,” Merlin insisted desperately, “she demanded a price, but I gave _my_ life, not my mother’s!”

“I’m sorry, Merlin.  I wish there was something I could do.”

The warlock shook his head, bending down to his mother, taking her hand in his, “I will find a way to save you.”

And with that, he was running to the only man he thought could help him.

 

“You knew this would happen,” Merlin accused as he entered to find Kilgharrah waiting for him.  “You had me trade my mother’s life for Arthur’s!”

“You said you would do anything,” he shrugged.

“Did you know my mother would die?”  His breathing came out in ragged gasps, fury and grief melding together as he stared at his neighbour with his pained blue eyes.

“I knew there would be a heavy price.”

Merlin looked at him, betrayal lodged like a knife in his heart, “and you let me go anyway?”

“We need Arthur to live.”

He bristled at _we_ , “I’m not one of you,” he spat.

“We are both of the Old Religion.”  Merlin shook his head.  Kilgharrah persisted, “it is the source of your power.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You are destined to protect young Pendragon until he takes his place, then magic will be returned to the realm, and I will be free.”

“Is that all you cared about?”  Merlin thought of long afternoons spent with him, learning spells to concentrate on anything other than grief.  Being told that he _wasn’t_ a monster, that he and his magic had a purpose.  And, on one memorable occasion, breaking into Camelot’s systems as a favour; his neighbour had smiled at him with such pride that he’d thought… he’d thought…  “I thought you were my friend.”

 

“I am more than that.  I am your kin.”

Merlin took a step back, “no.  My family is Gaius and my mother, and you had me murder her!”  He felt sick at the word.  That was what he’d done; he’d murdered his mother, the one who’d raised him and given him everything he could ever have wished for, protected him when others would have left him for Camelot.

“Her life has not been taken in vain,” Kilgharrah said soothingly.  “We will do great things, you and I.”

“No,” Merlin said bitterly, “for what you’ve done, you will never be released!  I’ll make sure you never fly, never regain your ‘former glory’.  You will never be free!”

“Merlin!”  Kilgharrah’s voice was not unlike a dragon’s roar as he raised his arms, flinging fire at the boy he had betrayed.

“Gescildan!”  Merlin’s shield, miraculously, stayed intact under the sweltering heat of the Great Dragon’s assault.  When it faded and he dropped it, he looked at him with cool hatred in his eyes.  “You will not see me again.”

 

Gaius fussed at Hunith’s side, fluffing her pillow.  She was in his bed - they couldn’t take her to hospital.  There was nothing they could do, and if word reached Uther that magic was involved, it might be traced back to Merlin.  No, the best he could do was make her comfortable, feeding her painkillers and sweet tea, and trying to look reassuringly upon her soon-to-be orphaned son.

“How is she?” Merlin asked quietly when he arrived home.  Gaius looked worriedly at him from the chair he’d taken in the kitchen to give Hunith some quiet, knowing instinctively that he didn’t know what to do.  And that was always dangerous for Merlin, almost as bad as when he had a plan.

“She’s sleeping.”  That was all there was to it.  She wasn’t yet worse, but she wouldn’t get better.

Merlin looked guiltily up the stairs to the room where she lay, “I have to save her.”

“You cannot.”

“If the balance of the world must be restored through taking a life, then Nimueh must take mine.”  That was the deal, even if she’d broken it.

“Merlin-”

“I will return to the island.”

“You can’t,” Gaius insisted, “your talents, your destiny, they’re too precious to throw away.  You are worth too much to sacrifice.”

“My destiny?” Merlin scoffed.  For all Gaius hated their elderly neighbour, they sometimes sounded rather similar.  “This is my mother.  My powers mean _nothing_ if I cannot save her.  You have taught me so much.  Taught me who I am.  Taught me the purpose of my skills.  Taught me that magic should only be used for great deeds.  But most of all, you have always taught me to do what is right.”

“Merlin,” Gaius sighed, sounding as choked as he was.

Merlin looked down, sniffling slightly.  His mother was in the bed, dying painfully; he had to save her.  Gaius might not understand, but this was how it had to be.  He swiped at an escaped tear and cleared his throat.

“I have to say goodbye to Arthur.”

 

Arthur took a sip of his drink, sighing at the blank papers he had to fill.  Apparently having his arm in a sling was the perfect time for him to catch up on all his paperwork - he’d say that he’d die of boredom, but he had a feeling that morbid jokes should wait until _everyone’s_ lips had ceased trembling at the sight of him ( _yes, Merlin, I saw it when you peeked in_ ).  And speaking of Merlin…  He turned to greet the man entering quietly into his office.

“How are you?”

“Good.”  It seemed redundant to mention how dull paperwork was - god knows he’d said it a thousand times before.

“I’m pleased.”

What was wrong with Merlin?  Normally he’d be smiling, joking, or at least insulting him.  Perhaps he was still upset.  “Yes.  I’d say I owed it all to Gaius, but that’s not quite true, is it?”  Merlin glanced away at Arthur’s pointed look - he might be injured, but he wasn’t oblivious.  It was far too coincidental that there was no cure until Merlin had - as Gwen told him - disappeared for a while…  He hoped Merlin was about to tell him what he’d actually done.

“I need to talk to you.”

Apparently not.  Arthur sighed, “you still haven’t got it, have you?   _I_ decide when we need to talk.”  And that was a lie, and a pointless one too.  Merlin was always talking to him when he’d asked him not to, and Arthur was always glad for it.

“Not today.”

Arthur looked straight at him, at his downcast expression and the shadows under his dulled blue eyes, and knew that something was seriously wrong.  And he didn’t know what, and he didn’t know how to fix it.  He forced out a flat laugh, “sometimes I wonder if you know who I am.”

“I know who you are,” Merlin assured him.

“Good.”  Was there to be no insult?

“You’re a prat.  And a royal one, too.”

Arthur chuckled, slightly relieved, “are you ever going to change, Merlin?”

“No, you’d get bored.”  Merlin finally stepped forward, out of the doorway.  “But promise me, if you ever get another handler, don’t get a bootlicker.”

“If this is you trying to leave your job…”  He really hoped it wasn’t.

“No.  I’m happy to work with you, ‘till the day I die.”

Arthur stared at him.  He was so earnest, and Arthur had no doubt that Merlin would stay by his side for as long as he was allowed… probably longer.  He swallowed, “sometimes I think I know you, Merlin, and other times…”  He shook his head.  He’d been certain he knew Merlin, once, before Ealdor, before everything got so complicated - and he didn’t just mean because of the magic.  In fact, Arthur was fairly sure the magic would have been less of an issue, wouldn’t have felt so much like a betrayal, if it wasn’t for the fact that he... nevermind.  The point was that he didn’t know Merlin.

“Well, I know you.  And you’re a great agent.  One day you’ll be a great head of Camelot.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Arthur said, perplexed.  There was a glimmering tear in the corner of Merlin’s eye; apparently he’d been rather more shaken by this than Arthur had realised.

“But you have to learn to listen as well as you fight,” he went on, looking straight at Arthur.  He took a hesitant step forward as if he expected to be stopped.

“Any other pointers?”  Arthur said quietly.  He watched silently as Merlin crossed the room to stand at his side.  The tense silence lay like a thick smog in the air, choking them until Merlin broke it.

“No.  No, that’s it.  Just…”  He bent down to Arthur’s level and pressed an uncertain kiss to the corner of Arthur’s mouth; he pulled away far too quickly for Arthur’s liking, too quickly for him to react, “don’t be a prat.”

And then he was gone, fleeing through the door, and Arthur realised with a sinking feeling in his stomach what felt so wrong.

 

That had sounded horribly like goodbye.

 

Merlin paid no heed to Arthur yelling after him, nor to frantic messages.

_8 Missed Calls_

_Prince of Camelot_

 

_From:_ _Prince of Camelot_

_Merlin?_

 

_From:_ _Prince of Camelot_

_Are you ok?_

 

_From:_ _Prince of Camelot_

_Are you ok?_

 

_From:_ _Prince of Camelot_

_Merlin, please answer_ _  
_ _me._

 

“Gwen?”

Guinevere looked up at Merlin, sympathy welling up in the form of tears in her eyes.  “Oh, Merlin, I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head, “she’ll get better.”

She hid the scepticism in her expression as swiftly as it appeared, “Gaius asked me to make her comfortable, keep an eye on her whilst he got some supplies.”

“You have a good heart, Gwen,” he said with a gentle smile, “don’t ever lose that.”

She looked at him perplexedly but left, allowing him some time with Hunith.

 

“I’m going to make you well, I promise.  Trust me.”

“You’re such a good son,” Hunith said feebly.

Merlin looked away; she had no idea what he’d done to her.

“I don’t want you to worry about me,” he said, sitting in the seat Gwen vacated and holding his mother’s hand, “I know the gods will protect me.  And I’ll see you again one day, I know it.”

“I’ll miss you.”

Merlin knew his mother had no idea what he was planning - she thought he was accepting _her_ fate.  “I’ll miss you, too.”  He stood, fishing in his pocket for something to help her.  He placed the rabbit foot in her clammy, open hand.

 

He started packing for the trip.  When he was done, he looked around for his uncle, wanting to say goodbye.

“Gaius?”

His anxious look landed upon a note on the table, hastily scribbled and slightly creased.

_Dear Merlin, my life is already near to its end.  There has, for the most part, been very little purpose to it, very little that will be remembered.  In contrast, Merlin, your life is destined for greatness.  Live by the tenets I have taught you, and I believe you will, in time, become the greatest warlock ever.  To have known you has been my greatest pleasure, and to sacrifice myself for you is but an honour.  You are and always will be the son I never had._

“No,” he breathed.  This was wrong, all wrong.  This was _his_ fate to face.

His lungs burned as he ran.

 

“I never thought I’d see you here again,” Nimueh said idly, watching as Gaius eased his aching body out of the boat.  He bowed to her.

“My lady.”

She laughed, “it’s been a long time since you called me that.”  He avoided her gaze, the distance of twenty years a tangible barrier between them.  It had been like this way back then; he’d stepped out onto this same shore, looking at the same girl (though her smile had been kind then, rather than the twisted, bitter smirk she wore now), and speaking the same words.

“I came to ask for your help.”

“As you did for Uther?  You were not satisfied with the outcome then.”  None of them had been.  None of them had been clever enough to see what the price would be.

“I offer you a chance to atone for what happened, for what you did to him, to Ygraine,” he said quietly, knowing this was also his chance to earn forgiveness for the crimes he had committed,

“I have already saved her son,” she said bitterly (even after all this time, the name of the woman they had all loved stung viciously), “what more do you ask of me?”

“That this time you take a just price.”  He looked to the other side of the lake, “not long from now, Merlin will be here to ask that you take his life in place of his mother’s.  I need you to take mine.”

Nimueh laughed, shock colouring her expression, “with all my powers of prediction,” she tittered, “I could never have foretold this.  Gaius the hero.”  The words were bitter and twisted falling from her tongue, and sounded wrong to his ears.  “Why should I grant your wish?” she continued resentfully, “you stood and watched as our friends died in Operation Purge.  You,” she spat, her every word one more dagger to his old heart, ”are nothing but a traitor.”

“Merlin is the one who can bring magic back,” he told her, wholly believing it in a way he hadn’t been able to until he’d witnessed his nephew’s devotion, “at Arthur’s side he will do great things.  They will forge a new country, those with magic living in unity with those without.  It will be a world of peace and beauty that we cannot even imagine.”

“And are you willing to die for the future they will bring?”

He took a shivering breath.

“Ready to die, Gaius?  Gaius?”

“For Merlin,” he said calmly, “I will do anything.”

“Very well,” she smiled, flashing her unnaturally white teeth.

 

Merlin could hear Nimueh’s chanting as he reached the boat to reach the island.

“Ic, séo héahsácerd, þe ácwile strengþe ealdan æwfæstnesse!”

“NO!”  He urged himself forward, rushing onto the island, “stop!”

“Back so soon, warlock?”  Nimueh smiled sweetly at him and the anger raced through his veins, blood roaring in his ears.

“What have you done?”

“This was what you wanted, wasn’t it?  Your mother is safe.”

He looked over to Gaius, eyes closed and leant against a stone wall of the fortress, “is he dead?  Have you killed him?”

“It was his wish.”

“I bid  _my_ lifefor Arthur’s,” he growled, “not my mother’s, not Gaius’.  Mine.”

“The Old Religion doesn’t care who lives and who dies,” she scoffed irritably, “only that the balance of the world is restored.  Gaius knew that and so do you.”

Merlin looked steadily at her, “it is not the Old Religion that did this.  It was you.”

“Come, Merlin,” she laughed, “we are too valuable to each other to be enemies.”

“No!  I share nothing with you!”

“Together, we can make Arthur head!”

“I will make Arthur head,” he glared, rage and grief clouding his mind, “but you will not live to see the day.  Ástríce!”

 

Nimueh withstood the attack with ease, not even swaying when others would have been flung backwards.  “Your childish tricks are no use against me, Merlin,” she chided, “I am a high priestess.  Forbærne!”

Merlin gasped as the burning heat of the spell passed close, too close, to him.  

“You are a creature of the Old Religion, too.  You should join me!”

He looked at the insane lust for power glinting in her eyes, thought of the manipulation of Kilgharrah, which had nearly cost him his mother and seemed to have cost him his uncle, “I will never join forces with such selfish, cruel magic.”

“So be it,” she spat, taking aim.  “Ácwele!”

Merlin flew back as the spell hit him straight in the chest.  He felt the spell sizzle and burn his skin, and the air was flung from his lungs as he landed heavily on the ground.  His head spun and he thought he might be sick, his vision multiplying uncontrollably.

“Pity,” Nimueh sighed, looking disappointedly at the boy lying prone on the floor, watching his unfocused eyes watch her, “together we could have ruled the world.”

  
Merlin’s vision began to focus as she turned her back.  Pushing up from the dirty floor with a scowl, he balanced himself and glared at her.  “You should not have killed my friend.”

Nimueh turned back just in time to watch his eyes glow gold with ancient power, just in time for fear to settle in her eyes as he called lightning to strike her down.  He didn’t even watch to see her collapse, choosing instead to run to his uncle’s side.

“Gaius?  Gaius!”  He cradled his uncle’s rapidly cooling body, “no, no.”  Merlin let out a sob, his tears mingling with the rain he’d summoned as they dripped onto Gaius’ cheek.  He ducked his head into his uncle’s shoulder, muffling his tears.

 

“Merlin?”

He raised his head.  Clearly, he was going mad, because he just heard Gaius’ voice.  But his uncle’s eyes were open, his limbs moving, even if it was only weakly, and his body warm.

“Gaius.  Gaius!  Gaius, you’re alive!”

“What did you do?”

“I killed Nimueh,” and the lack of guilt he felt was an issue to be dealt with later, “the balance of the world is restored.”

“You mastered the power of life and death,” Gaius told him, awe in his voice and pride in his eyes, “we’ll make a great sorcerer out of you yet.”

“So you believe in me now?”

“Well, I would do if…” Gaius said slowly, “if you could stop this blasted rain!”

They laughed loudly, soaked to the skin but, against all odds, alive.

 

_Kilgharrah felt the wave of magic immediately.  He knew in an instant what it meant; that Nimueh, one of the last priestesses, was dead.  “Merlin!   No!”_

 

Arthur paced in Merlin’s living room.  He’d dashed over to find the door unlocked, but there was no one there save Hunith sleeping soundly in Gaius’ bed.  It meant no sense - if Hunith was here, why was Merlin not?  Why had he said goodbye?  

The sound of the door opening made him jump, and he ran to see who it was.

“Arthur?”

“Merlin!”  Grabbing him by the arm, Arthur dragged the warlock up the stairs to his room, ignoring the concern of Gaius, fully intending to have his questions answered.

 

“Arthur?” Merlin said again, voice weak and quiet and _gods, if Arthur pushed it he was going to tell him everything_.

“Why did you say goodbye?”

He avoided Arthur’s gaze with practised efficiency - he hadn’t expected him to realise.

“ _Mer_ lin.”

He tried to stop the tears that snuck out, but they fell in earnest at Arthur’s concern, muffled gasps and gulping breaths smothered in his side as he wrapped Merlin in a hug, shushing him quietly and rubbing his back.  Nothing save the widening of his eyes betrayed his shock as Merlin’s garbled tale was regaled, incoherent in places, but clear enough that he understood the main part - he’d nearly lost his best friend.

“Why did you do that?” he whispered, bending his head close enough to Merlin that his breath tickled his ear, “why would you give your life for mine?”

“You know why,” Merlin mumbled, raising his head so Arthur could see the tears that clung to his lashes.

“Right.  Our destiny.”

“No.  You.”

And Arthur had meant to yell, to insist that he couldn’t ever do that again because he didn’t want to live knowing Merlin was one more who’d died for him, but Merlin’s lips on his were rather distracting, and it seemed a better use of his time just to kiss back.

 

It was alright.  He could yell later.


End file.
